


Candles On Air

by isthatyoularry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthatyoularry/pseuds/isthatyoularry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry’s smile is filled with unconditional love — just not the right kind. Louis has told himself for years that it’s okay. Harry loving him the way he can is enough. Each year it gets a little harder to repeat the same mantra.</em>
</p><p>  <em>"It gets better. It will pass. His friendship is enough."</em></p><p>  <em>Harry has taken the liberty of putting on classic Christmas tunes on the speaker in the kitchen, and as their shared flat isn’t the largest Louis can hear Mariah Carey’s crooning from where he’s perched on the small sofa in the living room. Harry is on the floor, humming along. And yes. All Louis wants for Christmas is Harry.</em></p><p>A Christmas AU ft. Pining, Heartbreak, and maybe A Happy Ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles On Air

**Author's Note:**

> Hiyaaaaa! Happy Christmas my loves!
> 
> A few things: This Christmas AU was actually intended for last year, but I never had the time to finish it, and decided to save it. I only tagged the most important relationships, but I should mention there is some Niall Horan/Melissa Whitelaw in there, too. About the Liam/Louis, it won't be too bad. I know most people/larries don't want to read that but I think you'll find it quite tame hehe :) It think the story can be a bit angsty, though, and there is a lot of pining. Louis 100% only loves Harry. :)
> 
>  **A tiny list of songs:**  
>  Christmas Lights - Coldplay  
> Another Christmas - Amanda Jenssen
> 
>  **Disclaimer:**  
>  None of this is real. Nothing in this is meant to imply anything, nor does this reflect my personal beliefs about anything or anyone. This is fiction. Also I don't own One Direction but you knew that.
> 
>  **If you want to say hi :)**  
>  tumblr: [isthatyoularry](http://isthatyoularry.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter: [isthatyoularry](https://twitter.com/isthatyoularry)
> 
> **TRANSLATIONS:**  
> [Chinese](http://smilecher.lofter.com/post/3e53a6_95dca54)
> 
> **AS OF JUNE 2016 NO NEW TRANSLATIONS ARE PERMITTED!**

  
**Candles On Air (Christmas Lights)**

_Up above candles on air flicker_  
_Oh, they flicker and they flow_  
_And I’m up here holding on to all those chandeliers of hope_  
_And like some drunken Elvis singing_  
_I go singing out of tune_  
_Singing how I’ve always loved you, darling, and I always will_

**

There is something to be said about the way some people can alter your entire view of life.

They just appear, almost out of thin air, and then they’re there. They turn up, might only smile, say a few words, or sit across from you on the bus, and make you contemplate the inner nature of your soul. It doesn’t matter what they do, it all ends the same way.

Some people just happen to be there in the right moment, and then they’re attached, like the smoke to your fire. They jump onto your boat, take the seat next to yours on the train, or possibly, maybe, climb into your tree house when you’re ten years old.

It’s been over twelve years since that day. Louis still remembers the look on the boy’s face; a little breathless from climbing, dimples popping in either cheek, eyes green as the moss on the rocks in the little woods behind the playground.

Louis has loved him since day one. It just happened.

Harry came into his life, and changed everything. Louis might not have known then, or had much of a direction to go in, but now he knows that that’s what Harry did. Louis is twenty-two, and he might not be the most prestigious man of his age, but he knows without doubt that Harry changed everything, and nothing would be the same without him.

“What do you want for Christmas, Lou?” Harry wonders. He is sitting on the floor by their plastic Christmas tree, fiddling with the lights that they won’t actually turn on until Christmas approaches, and there is a red Santa’s hat on top of his head of brown curls.

 _You_ , he wants to say. _You. Always you._

Just like he wanted to say last year, and the year before that. And the year before that.

But just like last year, he shrugs. “I’m not sure, Harold. Maybe a pair of reindeer socks?”

Harry looks up at him from the floor, eyes filled with fondness and warmth as he smiles at him. 

Louis answers the same thing every year. It’s almost an unofficial tradition, a ritual. It’s always the same. Every year they pack up the Christmas tree before Halloween is even over, because Harry is the living image of a kid when it comes to holidays, and Louis finds it hard to deny him much of anything. They start planning the gifts the very first day of November, and Harry asks him the same question and Louis answers the exact same thing. Then Harry smiles at him in that way that Louis can feel it in his toes.

Harry’s smile is filled with unconditional love — just not the right kind. Louis has told himself for years that it’s okay. Harry loving him the way he can is enough. Each year it gets a little harder to repeat the same mantra.

_It gets better. It will pass. His friendship is enough._

Harry has taken the liberty of putting on classic Christmas tunes on the speaker in the kitchen, and as their shared flat isn’t the largest Louis can hear Mariah Carey’s crooning from where he’s perched on the small sofa in the living room. Harry is on the floor, humming along.

And yes. All Louis wants for Christmas is Harry.

**

Their kitchen is very small. They have a tiny table attached to the wall with four high chairs around, separating the kitchen from the living room. They spend a lot of time in there. Harry cooks them dinner, Louis sits at the table and eats cereal every morning while Harry does yoga before work, and when Christmas times are nearing he and Harry invite some of the lads over to bake cookies. It’s tradition.

“This doesn’t even look like a reindeer,” Niall complains. He’s got a tube of icing in his hand that is dripping down his wrist, and the gingerbread cookie he is trying to decorate looks like a mess.

“That, mate,” Louis says, peeking over his shoulder, “looks like three fourths paste and one fourth cookie.”

Niall makes a displeased noise. “You’ve got an easier one.”

Louis is decorating a heart. Considering he isn’t the neatest in the kitchen he has done well. He’s mixed green and blue stripes, and his heart-shaped cookie has turned out rather brilliant in his very unbiased opinion.

“Move! Hot!” Harry exclaims loudly, making Zayn move from the counter when he comes from the oven, carrying a large baking sheet with steaming cookies on. He looks quite fantastic. His hair has gotten long, it falls to his shoulders in wavy curls, the top half of it in a lazy bun. He’s got these huge oven mitts on, and a tiny little red apron around his waist.

Zayn flops down in the chair next to Louis’, and glances down at his cookie. “Blue and green isn’t very Christmassy. Use red.”

“Thanks, Zayn,” Louis mutters sarcastically.

“I like blue and green,” Harry interjects, leaning over the table to have a look. He has still got the mittens on. He looks ridiculous. And lovely. “Blue is like the colour of your eyes, Lou, and your birthday is the twenty-fourth. Green is like the Christmas tree. That’s very Christmassy.”

Harry will never stop making Louis fall in love with him a hundred times a day.

“See,” Louis says haughtily, turning to Zayn. “My cookie is perfect.”

Zayn only rolls his eyes, and reaches for the pile of undecorated ones. Zayn is a great artist — he attends art school even — thus Louis doesn’t even try to compete with him. Niall is a better match.

“Can Pezza come to Bar Night?” Zayn asks. Bar Night is exactly what it sounds like. On the first Saturday of November all of the lads go barhopping. When anyone is dating they tend to bring their significant other. Louis has never brought anyone.

“Sure,” Harry agrees. His voice is low and gravelly as per usual, and he is always so kind. “How long has it been?”

“Four months.”

“Reckon it’ll last?” Niall wonders casually, licking some icing off his forearm to prevent it from slipping past his elbow. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He sounds nonchalant, but Louis thinks he can deter some hopefulness. Zayn catches his glance, though, and he eyes him for a moment. “What about you, Lou?”

“What?” He frowns in confusion.

“When are you going to bring someone around? It’s been ages.”

“Yeah, like, what? Two years?” Niall adds.

Louis could blame it on his brown fringe not being as attractive as Zayn’s raven hair, and his body being too curvy and not skinny like Niall’s, but he knows his friends would roll their eyes. To be fair, Louis has thought about it, but it’s been long since. He has thought about ignoring every single cell in his body, and go grab somebody in a club and make them his, just for the sake of having them. He could fall in love with them, and he could forget about Harry.

Sadly it doesn’t work like that. In reality nobody catches his eye, and truthfully he never looks. He’s already blinded.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just not happening right now.”

Harry is taking off his mittens, hanging them on the hook next to the microwave under the cupboards.

“Are you having trouble pulling?”

“No, Niall.” Louis rolls his eyes. “I don’t go out to pull. You know that.”

“I could get you a regular booty call, mate. I know a guy.”

“Louis doesn’t need a booty call,” Harry interrupts then. He smiles as Louis watches him skip around the table. “Louis deserves a good boyfriend, who loves him, and will make him tea with milk and no sugar, and will kiss him on the doorstep.” He grins and plants a little kiss on Louis’ cheek, before plucking a cookie from the pile and skipping back to the oven.

Louis bites his cheek. Harry would do that. He would be a gentleman. He’d hold his hand, lend him his jacket, kiss him on the doorstep, and stroke his cheek. There is only one of Harry, though, and there is only one person who gets him in the end. That person isn’t Louis.

**

When Louis was a teenager, he and Harry lived in Doncaster. Their houses were right next to each other’s, and that’s how Harry found him in the tree house that day when they were just kids. Harry was new on the block, ecstatic as he had found a tree house in the garden right next to his house, and ended up sneaking into his neighbour’s property. Shocked he was when he found Louis in there, but they formed a strong friendship right away.

They went to the same school when they were fourteen and twelve, Harry in two grades lower. It was only a week until the Christmas holidays, and Louis was sitting in the tree house even though his mum didn’t allow him to climb when the steps were icy. He was waiting for Harry, though, and this was their spot.

When Harry’s curly head finally shot up outside the little opening in the wooden wall he was smiling, and he held a wrapped gift in his hand. It wasn’t very big, but looked neatly done.

“What’ve you got?” Louis asked curiously.

“A girl in class gave it to me,” Harry said, and he looked at the gift with warm eyes. His cheeks were slightly red from the cold, but his eyes were as green as ever.

“Well, let us see!” Louis urged. He has always been a bit impatient, especially as a kid.

Harry took off his mittens, and carefully unwrapped the gift. He did it with care, like the act held great significance. He still does that, acts as though every detail is important. Most of all he makes you feel like _you_ are important, and maybe that hurts the most.

Beneath the wrappings a pair of socks were revealed. Louis looked closer, and then laughed boisterously. They were red, and on each one there was a mildly misshapen reindeer. They were quite cute, even if they looked ridiculous. Harry smiled down at them like they were made of silk.

Louis has teased him a lot about those socks. Every time Harry asks him what’s on his wish list for Christmas he always says a pair of reindeer socks.

“There’s a note,” Louis noticed.

“Oh.” Harry nicked out the small card, bringing it closer to Louis so he could read as well.

_You have very cute dimples, Harry. I have a crush on you. Do you like me too?_  
_Yes ()_  
_No ()_  
_Maybe ()_

Louis eyed the message for a long time. Harry wasn’t saying anything, but when Louis looked up to see his reaction he was smiling.

“That’s so nice,” he said lowly, albeit happily.

Louis was fairly sure Harry didn’t know the girl very well, and he was also quite sure the love was unrequited, but Harry smiled for the rest of the day. Louis briefly thought about kissing him. He didn’t, though.

**

The pub is crowded. They are all crammed in a booth; Niall, Zayn and his girlfriend Perrie, Ed, Stan, and Louis and Harry. Barhopping night is going well. They’ve been at three so far, and the third one is a favourite tonight. They’re having a great time. Perrie fits in seamlessly with her bright humour, making them all clutch their stomachs. It’s obvious Zayn is enamoured with her. Niall has told her twice about that time he and Louis broke the shot record at a club in Soho, and how they had both ended up sick in the taxi on the way home, which is a brilliant story he saves for the good ones.

Louis doesn’t recall much of that, but he does remember Harry holding his hand and stroking his hair off his forehead the entire night when he got home.

The pub is doing Christmas karaoke, and Louis thinks they are just as ready for the holidays as Harry. Louis isn’t as ready yet, but he indulges him and joins him to sing O Holy Night while the rest of the group laugh their arses off. Harry laughs the hardest when Louis sings the notes off key on purpose, and after they’ve finished he throws Louis over his shoulder and carries him back to the booth, while Louis flushes and tipsily cries out for help. Pub number three is a winner.

Pub number four is okay, but it doesn’t beat Harry holding him close.

Harry is by the bar. He is talking to a girl. She’s quite pretty, shoulder-length ash-blonde hair, curvy hips and a bright smile. Louis doesn’t get jealous over small things like that anymore, and he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t. He has learned to handle it. He’s had to.

There were those two months when Harry dated that girl who worked at Miss Selfridges just by Oxford Circus, and then there was a time when Harry had a booty call friend named Sean he used to see. There’s also that day in January this year when Louis accidentally walked into Harry’s room, finding him leaning in and softly kissing that girl from his university.

They were all nice people, and Louis envied them so much it hurt.

Niall comes back to their new booth, hands occupied with three pints that he carefully sets on the table. The group is a bit spread out; Stan and Ed are chatting up a couple of girls, Harry’s by the bar, and Zayn and Perrie are too in engrossed in one another to count as being present. Louis grabs one of the pints, and looks up to find a second bloke next to Niall who he isn’t sure he has encountered before.

He’s got brown eyes, and killer biceps. They’re even more impressive than Harry’s. Then again, Harry is leaner and this guy is actually buff. His skin is a bit tan, and Louis can practically see his abs through the sheer t-shirt he is adorning. He’s got thick eyebrows and nice eyes, too. Louis smiles up at him in greetings.

“Lou!” Niall says, louder than necessary. He always makes a lot of noise when he is drunk, or rather — he always makes a lot of noise. “This is Liam! He’s a fireman!” he shouts excitedly.

“Hey,” Liam smiles, sitting down next to Niall on the other side of the table. Louis isn’t sure where he came from, but Niall has a way of befriending just about anyone. He finds them anywhere. Louis has a sneaking suspicion that Niall personally handpicked their group of friends without any of them realising.

“How are you?” Liam asks. He is slightly less drunk than Louis.

“I’m good,” he answers, eyeing the scruff along his jaw. Harry can’t grow a beard.

Niall interrupts before it gets any further. “Liam is fireman, did I tell you? Look at his body, Louis!”

Louis knows what this is about then. Drunk Niall is setting them up. Liam must know, too, except he doesn’t seem to mind. He looks at Louis with a little smile, but Louis glances back at the bar. Harry is still chatting with the girl, and she’s got a drink in front of her. He presumes Harry bought it for her.

Louis knows how to talk to people. He’s a people person, and he knows exactly what to say to elicit a laugh out of anyone. He could convince anybody to buy him a drink, woman or man, straight or gay, and he could make conversation for a fortnight. It’s only Harry who can render him speechless, like with the way he is touching that girl’s elbow. It doesn’t matter how many times Louis has lived it, or how many times he tells himself he doesn’t mind — it never hurts any less.

Somehow Liam manages to distract him. He says something about football a couple of minutes later, and all of a sudden Louis finds himself laughing along and catching on to his every word. He tells him a story about one time he had to go into a fire to save a dog, and Louis is actually intrigued. Liam winds up on his side of the booth, arm stretched out on the table before them. He has a few tattoos on his forearm. One is made of four thick arrows in a row, and Liam tells him it’s for his family; two sisters, and his parents.

Louis and Harry have tattoos as well. They’ve got the first words they ever said to each other inked on their arms. When Harry popped into his tree house and found another boy in there he said “Oops!” and Louis had simply retorted with a surprised “Hi.” The day Harry was allowed, they ran to the parlour and got their words written on their skin.

“I like those,” Louis hums, running a finger along the inked skin of Liam’s arm. He has always loved stories behind tattoos. They tell so much about a person, what they are willing to save as close to them as possible for the rest of their lives.

“They mean a lot to me,” Liam smiles.

“I’m sure,” Louis nods thoughtfully. He can feel Liam’s eyes on his face as he admires his tattoos, and he suddenly feels a little warm under his skin. He leans back and grabs his pint, emptying it in one go.

Harry, Ed, and Stan come back to the booth a while later, and Harry slides in on Louis’ other side. He wraps his arm around his shoulders, bringing him to his side. Niall gives Harry an affronted stare, presumably annoyed Harry doesn’t realise he is cock blocking. Louis can’t say he minds. Harry is back and he is warm, the feel of his arm around him calming, settling like an anchor.

Louis continues to talk to Liam, still. He’s nice and easy to speak to, and he doesn’t ever seem to be put off. Their group is quite the spectacle, but he is at ease. Niall knows how to pick them.

“Did you get that girl’s number?” Louis whispers to Harry once they are alone in a quiet taxi on the way home.

“Yeah,” Harry hums. His arm is still slung over Louis’ shoulders, and Louis has leaned in, resting his head against his chest. The lights flash by the dark windows of the car, and they both stare out for a long time. “Did you like Liam?” Harry asks.

“Yes, he was nice,” he murmurs, still staring out the window at the city flashing by.

“You deserve nice, Louis.”

_But he is not you._

**

“Are you ready to go, Lou?” Harry asks through the door.

He is not. He’s only in a towel that is wrapped around his waist, and he can’t find his blow dryer. “No, I can’t find my stuff!” he calls.

They were supposed to leave almost ten minutes ago, but Louis is never good with punctuality.

“What are you looking for?”

“Hairdryer!”

“Hold on.”

A minute later Harry is barging into Louis’ room, dryer in hand. Louis turns quickly, completely caught off guard. He is almost naked, Jesus.

“Here it is.” Harry sets it on the messy bureau in front of Louis’ mirror.

“Why do you have my stuff?” Louis asks with an arched brow, although he’s not exactly surprised. What he can only really feel is his tummy doing little somersaults. His towel is hanging dangerously low on his hips, and he wishes Harry would either pounce on him or leave.

Harry doesn’t leave. He flops down on Louis’ bed, and shrugs. Realising Harry is going to wait for him while he changes, Louis nervously contemplates what to do. Harry has seen him naked before, of course, but it’s been a while since. He knows he is a lot fitter now than when he was younger, and a brief thought fleets by.

Maybe a tiny, tiny part of him wants to show Harry what he is missing. It’s stupid, really fucking silly, but he wants to drop the towel and let Harry have at it. Stare at him, take him in, lick his lips, have the desire shine in his eyes.

Deep down he knows that there won’t be such a result, because Harry doesn’t want him like that. Surely he can appreciate a nice arse, but there won’t be flames in his eyes as he gazes at Louis’ naked, shivering body.

He keeps the towel on. He slips into a pair of boxers underneath, but he can’t restrain himself from peeking behind him, guiltily dying to know if Harry is secretly watching him change anyway. He has always imagined it — imagined Harry being stupidly, irrevocably in love with him, too. He can’t stop hoping that Harry secretly loves him back, thinking that it’s unrequited just like Louis.

Louis glances behind him. Harry is texting on his phone.

Right.

Louis swallows thickly, hastily pulls a jumper over his head, and steps into a pair of jeans. It’s no big deal. He finds one of his patterned socks in the bottom drawer of his dresser, and the other one on the floor by the bed. It’s no big deal at all. He blow dries his hair silently, and Harry doesn’t watch him. He doesn’t look at him once.

Not once.

They meet Zayn at Leicester Square by the underground station, and together they make their way up town toward Oxford Street. There are Christmas decorations put up already, and the streets are busy. Louis tries to concentrate on figuring out what to buy his sisters, but it seems like the lump deep down in his throat won’t dissipate. 

It’s tiring. He feels so exhausted sometimes, and it’s all because of this stupid thing with Harry. He has learned to deal with some things, like not blushing, and acting strictly platonic around him, but in the end it doesn’t quite help. He is still carrying boxes of hope and wishes that will never be granted, and it’s so bloody tiring.

Zayn buys a pair of earrings for his older sister, and Louis tries to look at some for his sisters as well. His eyes lock on a silver ring with azure stones in, and he thinks Harry would love it. The bloke himself is browsing the other side of the shop, and Louis doesn’t say anything. The ring is beautiful, and Harry is beautiful, but Louis feels awful. So.

“Louis, did you get Liam’s number?” Zayn wonders once they’re outside, ambling down the street again.

“Why would I get his number?” He didn’t even think Zayn was aware of anything besides Perrie that night.

“You flirted with him all night!”

“I wasn’t! We weren’t flirting.” He glances at Harry, but he isn’t twitching a muscle.

For a moment, he feels anger flicker in his chest. Why doesn’t Harry care? Why isn’t he jealous? Why won’t he sneak glances at him when he is half naked? Why is Louis the only one painfully in love? Why does it have to be like this? _Why?_

“You were stroking his arm!” Zayn exclaims.

“You were flirting,” Harry agrees on his other side.

“How would you know? You were at the bar with that girl all night.”

Harry looks a bit taken aback by the sour sting in Louis’ voice. Louis didn’t mean to say it. He loves Harry, he’d never want to hurt him, but everything feels so messed up at the moment. Everything sucks.

“Well, he was flirting with you,” Zayn says decisively, ignoring Louis’ noise of protest. “I think Niall’s got his number. I’ll get it for you.”

“Why do you insist on me going out with him?” It’s annoying. He doesn’t need Liam.

“You need to date more. Liam is great, and he’s good-looking. He’s also taller, and bigger than you. You like bigger blokes, yeah?”

“I don’t need Liam.”

Harry doesn’t say anything more on the matter, but Zayn is persistent and Louis hates it. He hates when Zayn thinks he knows better, and when his tone gets so dismissive and decisive. He never acts like that normally, unless he is absolutely sure Louis is being uncooperative despite knowing better. Louis despises it, maybe mostly because when Zayn acts like this he is ninety-nine per cent of the time always right.

Alright, so what? Maybe he liked the fact that Liam liked him? It’s fucking awful knowing that the only person you’ll ever want to be with doesn’t return your feelings, so maybe he liked talking to Liam because he was interested in him like that.

But it was only a small distraction. The only person he’ll want to kiss under the mistletoe, or on New Year’s Eve this year is Harry, and that isn’t going to change.

And it fucking sucks.

**

The same night Louis makes them tea. Harry is lying on the couch, eyes a little droopy but nonetheless glued to the TV. It’s late, but they’re both quite the night owls. Well, Louis is at least, he thinks as he carries a cuppa each to the living room and catches Harry’s yawn.

“Hey,” he says softly, and sits down on the edge of the couch by Harry’s knees. He sets the cups down carefully on the coffee table. They haven’t talked much today since they were out with Zayn, but Louis has been feeling sick with guilt for hours. It’s something he can’t help.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs back, starting to sit, but Louis pats his leg, silently telling him it’s okay.

They settle back, Louis moving in behind the crook of Harry’s knees, leaning against him. They quietly sip their teas, gazing at the TV that’s showing a romantic comedy. Harry loves those films.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch today,” Louis finally says. It’s not Harry’s fault that Louis can’t seem to keep in check. It’s a constant inner battle, but it shouldn’t be taken out on Harry who has no idea. He swallows the little thing inside him that’s growling because Harry and his oblivious head can’t fucking tell, even though it’s been over twelve years.

Harry sighs. “You weren’t a bitch, Lou.” He sits up straighter, and pulls him closer to his side. “I know the lads are really on you about dating, and stuff. Me as well, and I’m sorry. It must be annoying.”

“You haven’t said anything,” Louis insists, because really Harry hasn’t. “I don’t know why I said that to you today,” he lies.

Harry smiles a lopsided little smile, and Louis feels a bit nauseous again. He hates lying to Harry, absolutely detests it. 

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “You’ve always been a bit dramatic. I’ve learned to handle it.” He grins, and there’s a little spark in his eye.

Louis loves him like this, all dimples and cheekiness, and he lets it slip out of his mouth. “You couldn’t handle me, Styles. Even if you tried.”

Harry releases a cackle, but subsequently smirks and grips Louis’ wrist, making his heart pound just that much harder. “I think I’d be quite able to. If only you knew…” He mouths the last bit, and Louis tries to control his breathing.

Harry is only joking, but Louis has thought about it so many times he can literally see it in his head. The two of them naked, hands rough and strong, and teeth…

Harry sinks exactly those into Louis’ bicep, and he yelps, woken out of his momentary daze.

“You fucker,” he exclaims, rubbing at the spot Harry bit him, and then leaps at him, digging his nails into his sides. Harry squeals and tries to get away, limbs flailing, and laughter reaching the ceiling.

They ultimately end up in a pile on the floor beneath the couch, and Louis thinks that this is one of the times he could imagine one day settling, and remaining Harry’s best friend for the rest of his life.

**

Louis spends the second Sunday of November at his mum’s back in Doncaster. It’s nice to be home, and usually Harry goes with him, but he couldn’t come this time due to exams he’s got to study for. He is going to be a professional photographer, and Louis had no idea, but apparently there are classes and exams to take for that. Louis himself said au revoir to uni after a year of pointless graphic design studies. He loves technology — he is a bit of a nerd, really — but he couldn’t for the life of him imagine doing it for the rest of his life. Instead, he works at a day care for kids. It’s a smaller kindergarten, and he occasionally comes home with watercolour in his eyebrow or spit on his shirt, but he loves it.

He wants at least three kids when it’s time, and he tries to ignore the voice in his head screaming that Harry wants his first daughter to be called Darcy.

Louis shakes his head at himself, because he is being fucking depressing. His entire life feels depressing at times. It revolves around Harry, and waiting for him to finally realise Louis is the one. Deep down he knows it’s not healthy, but that’s so easy to push away. He doesn’t know why it’s this particular year that he has started to feel so strongly about this whole thing, but he doesn’t think he used to be so torn up about it.

While he’s home he plays with his siblings, and catches up with his mother and her husband Dan. Lottie, the oldest of his younger siblings, practices her make-up techniques on him, and Louis tells her that her eyeliner skills have improved. She punches him and calls him a twat, and he promises to take it seriously once she stops making him look like a hooker. Truthfully, though, she’s quite great at it.

He gives all of his family kisses and hugs after supper when he’s supposed to leave. He’s not too fond of driving when it’s dark, and he does want to have a good sleep before work the following day. He is meant to go to the aquarium with the kids, and minimal energy isn’t ideal. He has also promised to stop by Anne’s, Harry’s mum, before he goes.

He skips over the small lawn, ducking through a hole in the hedge that’s still there since they were kids and used to sneak over to each other’s houses. He doesn’t bother knocking, only yells out his greetings after he opens the front door and slips his shoes off.

Anne is in the living room, and he hears her call for him. “Louis! Darling!” She comes out into the hallway, arms already extended, and he easily slips into them, hugging her back tightly.

“Hiya,” he smiles, rubbing her back. Her embrace is strong and warm, and it feels a lot like Harry’s hugs, only Harry is bigger and makes Louis’ blood feel like liquid glitter.

He sees Robin come into the hall, too, and he waves at him. He receives a happy grin in return, and Anne finally lets him go so he can get hug from Harry’s stepfather as well.

“I’m glad you’re here, love,” Anne says. “At least only one of you is stuck revising.”

Anne has got two kids, Gemma and Harry, but she treats Louis as if he were her third. Jay, Louis’ own mother, loves Harry and his sister, too, but it’s a bit different. Jay has got seven kids, and Harry’s house used to be a bit of a safe space where he could escape the madness of five sisters and a little brother. He’s spent long afternoons in Anne’s house, playing in the backyard, doing homework, watching movies, and playing video games. The tree house used to be his safe spot, but as he grew older Harry’s house turned into one of his favourite places in the world.

“He’s complaining too much,” Louis says. “It’s not that bad.”

Anne laughs lightly, digging through a drawer for something. “I’m sure he is. He just wants you to baby him, love.”

Louis rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. “He just doesn’t want to get up from his desk and walk all the way over to coffee maker.”

“Because your flat is so big.” Anne looks up and smiles, and they laugh. She has cheeky side to her, just like Harry, and Louis can’t help but think how easy all of this is. It would just be so easy if they ended up together.

Anne finally finds what she is looking for, and presents it to him. It’s actually two things, and he grins widely when he realises what they are.

“You didn’t,” he says, and reaches out for them.

Robin chuckles from the kitchen table. “She’s been working on them for ages. Haven’t you, darling?”

The material of the jumpers is soft, and Louis presses a sleeve to his cheek. It’s incredibly comforting, and he instantly loves it. The pattern is quirky; knitted snow and a snowman, a Christmas tree and stars. 

“These are amazing,” he says honestly, and leans in to kiss her cheek. “Harry will love it!” He can’t help it; he is already excited to see his face.

“I’m sure,” she says. She holds one of the jumpers out in front of Louis’ chest, giving the fit a rough check. She’s got it right, and she nods approvingly. “Yours is the blue one, of course, and Harry’s the one in green. I made Gemma’s red, because she wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Of course,” Louis nods with a slight smirk. Harry’s sister is a force of nature. “Can I bring these home?”

“Yes, but you have to promise to send me a picture. I want both of my boys in one frame and in the matching shirts.”

Louis promises dearly, and also tells her he will consider her offer about New Year’s. Usually the block gathers and light fireworks together, and Anne and Robin are planning to have a dinner before this year. Harry and Louis stayed in London last year, but going to Doncaster this time would be lovely. He doesn’t think he’ll want to kiss a stranger at midnight this year, and being with his family there’s no pressure. He just wants everything to be fine for once. He hasn’t felt fine on New Year’s Eve in a long time. 

“Love you!” he calls as he leaves, jumping into the car he has borrowed off Stan. He carefully reverses out on the street, and sends Anne and Robin one last wave before he stomps the gas, driving back to London.

**

Harry, as predicted, absolutely adores his jumper. He Skype calls his mum immediately when Louis shows him it after work the following day. He also makes Louis sit on his lap to show Anne how perfectly they match. His fingers are twined into the front of Louis’ jumper, and Louis almost melts into him. He rests his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, hands on top of Harry’s arm that is wound around his waist.

They just fit. They’re puzzle pieces, and Louis wishes for the millionth time that Harry understood that they’re supposed to be permanent.

On the following Friday, Louis gets home before Harry. He usually works an extra shift at the flower shop on Fridays, one of the days he doesn’t have many classes, and he won’t be home until six-ish.

Louis decides he should make an attempt at cooking dinner. He still feels bad about being snappy with Harry the other week (one of the side effects of being in love with your best friend: constant worry you put them off in case they secretly love you back), and he wants to do something nice for him. He doesn’t like being on ends with Harry. They don’t ever fight, and even minor spats make his stomach ache. It’s a bit of a stress symptom.

He cooks dinner, the only meal he knows how to: chicken wrapped in Parma ham, stuffed with mozzarella cheese, with a side of homemade mash. It probably takes him longer than it should, but he wants it to be perfect. He isn’t finished until well past six, and the kitchen looks like a mess, but Harry isn’t home yet.

He frowns. He doesn’t want the food to get cold, and Harry never takes this long to get home. He makes the table, and starts cleaning the kitchen while he waits. He usually hates doing dishes, but it’s distracting. His ridiculous head won’t stop imagining that something has happened, even though he knows it’s stupid. (Another constant worry: thinking that something has happened and you didn’t have the time to tell your best friend that you love them.)

When he’s done, Harry still isn’t back. Louis sits down at the table, chin in his hand, and waits.

He waits until it’s half past seven. He has checked his phone, but there was no message or call. He waits a bit longer.

It’s an hour later when the door opens. Louis’ head picks up from the crook of his elbow where he’s been half lying across the kitchen table. He leans back on his barstool, glancing into the hall.

Harry’s cheeks are bitten raw by the wind, the red in them the prettiest colour Louis has seen a while. His eyes are bright and happy as he unwinds his scarf, hanging his coat on the rack by the door. Louis eyes him carefully, stomach sinking with each passing moment. Harry’s hair is dishevelled by the wind, but his lips are puffy and pink.

“Hi,” Louis whispers.

Harry looks up as he toes off his shoes. “Hey,” he grins. He looks marvellous.

“Where have you been?” Louis wonders, but he knows.

“With Kate,” Harry says as he comes into the kitchen. “We met up, and went to… Oh.” He stops, eyes wide and mouth circling into a little O. “You made dinner?”

He ignores the question, along with the lump forming down his throat. “Who’s Kate?”

“The girl from Bar Night?” Harry answers slowly, eyes still stuck on the food Louis cooked a couple of hours ago now.

Right. It’s been almost two weeks since, and Louis conveniently forgot about that. He’s quite good at it, pushing things away.

“Oh,” he breathes. He looks down from Harry’s raw lips, eyes falling on the chicken on the table. He blinks repeatedly, nails digging into his own arm.

“This looks amazing, Lou. I’m sorry, I should have texted you, but I didn’t think you’d… you know.” He smiles crookedly, because they both know Louis is more often than not a nightmare in the kitchen. Louis thinks Harry should have texted anyway. He feels a bit sick with himself.

He straightens up. “Yeah, we can just put it in the fridge. We can have it for lunch tomorrow, or something,” he mumbles, starting to undo the table.

He’s a fucking idiot, he thinks. He shakes his head at himself.

He quickly puts the food in Tupperware and stuffs them into the fridge, Harry carefully helping him. He must notice Louis’ stiff shoulders and brisk movements, but he also seems to realise he doesn’t want to talk. Quite honestly, Louis wants to run. He doesn’t want to be here. He needs to get away from the smell of chicken and mozzarella, away from Harry’s green eyes, and his stupid, raw, pink, newly kissed lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes when he’s in his room by himself.

He is pathetic.

He’s always been, and it’s getting worse. He’s so bloody sick of this. Maybe he’s been feeling sick of it for a while. He needs to get over it. Just fucking — he can’t handle this. He always knew Harry would find someone eventually, someone steady, not a fling, but now that it might be happening again Louis feels more than less able to pull through it. He doesn’t feel like he can handle anything anymore.

He needs to get out of the flat. He calls Niall.

“Mate,” is the breathy answer he gets. “Get down ‘ere to The Pram. Pints!”

Perfect, Louis thinks. “On my way, Niall.”

**

An hour later he’s sufficiently drunk. He’s at a club with Niall and a couple of friends of his. Stan is there as well somewhere. Niall wondered why Louis didn’t bring Harry with him, and Louis said he couldn’t come. Truthfully, he had lied to Harry. He said he was going for a walk and wasn’t going to be gone long. He’s not sure if Harry believed him.

Louis hasn’t eaten since lunch, and the alcohol makes his head spin more than it should. He kind of likes it. He takes four shots in a row with Niall, and the taste quells the lump in his throat and suffocates the churn in his stomach.

After another hour, he notices a text from Harry on his phone, asking where he is. He ignores it, stuffing the phone into his pocket again. All he can see is Harry’s pink lips, and the dazed look in his eyes when he got home. He doesn’t want to feel, and he orders another shot from the bar.

“Hey!” Niall says beside him. “You okay, mate?”

“Fine!” Louis dismisses him, throwing back the shot. Tequila. Probably not the best idea. He doesn’t care. Harry and what’s ‘er face probably made out for hours before he got home.

“Oi! Isn’t that Liam?”

“Liam?” Louis’ head snaps up. Liam. Right. _Liam._ He spots him; he’s in a black t-shirt that’s clinging to his chest, and it’s almost a crime, because he looks so fucking good Louis wants to lick him. Liam. Liam who likes him.

He’s dancing, and he looks ridiculous. And hot. Liam.

He pushes off the bar, stumbling forward into the crowd of people. Liam is surrounded by what seems to be his gang of friends, but Louis manages to sift through despite how unstable he feels on his feet.

“Liam!” he exclaims, tapping his arm.

It takes a moment before Liam reacts, but when he does his eyes widen, and he grins. “Louis!” He’s definitely drunk as well, but Louis likes it.

“What are you doing here?” he slurs, hands already fumbling over Liam’s chest.

“Funky Buddha! The place to be!” Liam laughs happily, hand falling down on Louis’ waist. The music is pounding, and Louis is already being pulled into the mess of bodies. “Dance, Louis!”

It’s quite amazing. Liam’s friends are fantastic. They just dance, don’t seem to care what they look like or what they are doing, and maybe even who they are on a normal day. Maybe it’s because they’re drunk or on something, but the aura around them pulls Louis in, and he feels okay for a moment. He wants to stay like that. He wants to be okay, and fine, and happy. He wants to want to kiss boys that aren’t his best friend, and he wants to be okay. Liam’s friends are wild, but they are okay. Louis wants to disappear in them.

Liam’s arm is around his waist, and he has pulled Louis to his side. Louis presses his nose into the crook of his neck, and breathes him in. He smells like sweat and cologne, and his hand is big on the small of Louis’ back. Louis breathes heavily, chest heaving, and he kind of wants Liam to wreck him.

There is a girl on Liam’s other side, and Louis thinks she is looking at him, but he doesn’t care. He needs this, he needs to let loose. He hasn’t done this in so fucking long. He’s always been scared to put his stupid best friend off by dancing with other guys, but Harry isn’t here. And Liam likes him.

“Liam,” he whines in his ear, pressing himself flush against him. He feels his grip on him tighten, and he wants more. He’s a clingy drunk, but Liam takes him close. He spins him, pressing his body to his chest and grinds into him. His arm is slung over Louis’ chest, the other on his hip, and Louis almost groans.

They grind together. Louis doesn’t know for how long, but they’re sweaty, and he can feel Liam’s semi against bum. It feels good. Louis dances, Liam dances, and Liam’s friends dance. Liam drinks, Louis drinks, and Liam’s friends drink a whole lot more.

They eventually leave the dance floor, and find Niall in a booth with Stan and a few other people. Louis is in Liam’s lap, and stays there the rest of the night.

“You can really dance,” Liam laughs when they land in the booth, eyes glassy and red. Louis giggles, turning over to straddle him, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m a professional,” Louis smiles, and rolls his hips in the air above Liam’s crotch.

“I’m sure,” he breathes in response, hands gripping Louis’ shirt.

“Oi! Louis,” Niall exclaims from the other side of the booth. “Were you planning on fucking ‘im on the table, or summat?”

Louis laughs, and flips him off. He turns to Liam, grinning.

Liam’s eyes rake over Louis’ body, and he grips his thighs, pushing him back to sit on the table. Louis squeals, but finds Liam standing and towering over him, pressing his lips against his. The lads around the booth cheer, and Louis laughs into the kiss, able to feel Liam’s drunken laughter as well. It’s fun, and nobody cares, and Liam is amazing. He doesn’t make Louis contemplate his entire life in his presence, and it’s easy.

Louis can’t remember much of what happens after that. At half past four in the morning, though, he finds himself stumbling out of a cab, Liam’s hand on his elbow. They’re outside Louis’ building he thinks, but Liam is singing Christmas carols and making him laugh, and he wants to stay with him.

“OH HOLY NIGHT,” Liam belts, making Louis clutch his stomach. Somehow Liam thinks he is Christina Aguilera.

“Shut up, you idiot,” he slurs, grabbing his waist to make him stop. Liam doesn’t care, only starts a new song. This time he takes Louis’ hands and makes him dance with him.

It’s in the middle of the night, and they’re belting Christmas tunes and swing dancing. Liam makes Louis twirl, clumsily dips him, and in a spontaneous moment Louis jumps up to wrap his legs around Liam’s waist, but all that happens is Liam almost falling into a pile of limbs on the sidewalk. Louis laughs, and tries to straighten him. It isn’t very graceful, but at least he doesn’t fall over and hurts himself.

Liam looks a bit dizzy for a moment. A little green, too. “I think I’m gonna throw up,” he says, hands on his stomach.

He does. He throws up by the curb, and Louis laughs so much he ends up on the pavement, lying on his back. Liam comes to join him a while later, eyes hazy and half-lidded.

“Are we making snow angels?” he asks when Louis starts moving his limbs.

“Yes,” Louis nods.

“I don’t think there’s any snow yet.”

“We can still make snow angels.”

“Okay.”

They make snow angels.

**

When Louis wakes up, he’s on the sofa in his living room. His head hurts, he smells like gross alcohol, and he doesn’t remember how he got up to the flat.

“Are you awake?”

He groans.

“Do you need a bucket, or…?”

He groans.

“You could have told me you were going out, you know.”

Louis breathes into the pillow he apparently faceplanted into last night.

“I don’t know why you did it, Louis, but you don’t have to lie to me if you don’t want me to come partying with you, or something. I mean, we’ve been a package deal forever, but if you want some time alone, you know I would understand that, Lou.”

Louis groans louder. “No,” he croaks. “I love being with you.”

“What happened then?”

“It wasn’t intentional. Like, I was gonna go for a walk,” he says hoarsely, “and then Niall called, and he was at the club.” He is a disgusting liar.

He hears Harry’s sigh from his right, coming from the armchair. “You seemed to have fun with Liam at least. You’ve hit it off well?”

 _Liam_ , Louis thinks. “Liam threw up on the pavement,” he remembers.

“Yeah. You told me six times when you came home half past five in the morning, giggling like an idiot.”

Shit. Louis groans.

“You were cute. Just a bit annoying as well, considering it was almost dawn.”

He groans again. He’s obnoxiously clingy, giggly, and touchy when he’s drunk. Luckily Harry knows and has extensive experience, but Louis knows he can be a bit much. 

“I’m sorry, Haz. For all of it.” His voice is throaty, and his entire body feels sore.

“It’s fine. Just… tell me when you’re mad, alright? And when you’re upset and sad, too, because I feel like you never tell me stuff anymore.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

He feels a hand land on his back, and he immediately shivers as Harry rubs at his spine. “Okay,” Harry says, probably nodding. It’s simply in the way he says it. “Want me to make you some breakfast?”

“No,” Louis whines quickly. “Please, no.”

Harry laughs, and Louis curls into his pillow, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. He suddenly remembers crying last night, when he was lying here only hours ago. He cried because of chicken and girls and stupid best friends.

“Let me die,” he moans dramatically, squeezing the pillow tighter to him.

**

They are all at Ed’s. It’s Tuesday the following week, and Louis is still trying to recover from the weekend. They’re gathered around the kitchen table, playing poker. Harry is a horrific player, but Louis usually helps him cheat. Stan is eerily similar to Marshall in _How I Met Your Mother_. He wins all games all the time — board games, card games, bets and whatnot, no matter. Needless to say he’s in the lead, several piles of marks in front of him. It’s probably for the best they don’t play for actual money.

Harry is sitting on his right, and Louis is currently glancing over at his cards. He’s got nothing, and Louis smiles sympathetically. He knows Harry doesn’t really need it, because he doesn’t care if he loses or not, but Louis is always by his side, supporting him nonetheless.

“More beer, lads?” Ed asks, and all eyes turn to him. Louis takes the opportunity to snatch one of Harry’s cards from his hand, and replaces it with one of his own. Within two seconds Harry’s got a pair instead of nothing, and Louis has lost his full house. 

Harry turns to him, and Louis knows he’s beaming at him without looking. He pretends nothing has happened, simply snatching a couple of peanuts from the bowl on the table, taking a sip of his half filled beer. His throat bobs, maybe a little obnoxiously, and his eyes go half-lidded as he swallows. Harry squeezes his thigh. Louis splutters.

Someone clears their throat while Louis wipes his chin in embarrassment, and Louis looks up to find Zayn’s eyes on him. He firmly ignores him — nothing happened after all.

The game continues once Ed has handed out a new set of beers around the table. Louis could have won the round, none of the lads would have beaten his full house, but the smile Harry wears when he presents his pair is one of the cutest Louis has seen on him in a while, so he’s content. He feels Zayn watching him slightly throughout the game, but he determinedly doesn’t look his way.

“Louis, you’re going home to Donny for Christmas as usual, or?” Stan asks when they pile the marks away an hour later. He won of course.

“Yeah,” he nods. Every year he spends his birthday, the 24th, and Christmas Day with his mum back home, but on Boxing Day he and Harry usually come back to London and celebrate their own Christmas together. ‘Crimbo at Harreh & Loueh’s’ the lads call it, and the whole gang, including significant others sometimes, come to celebrate with them in the evening. The day, however, is meant for Harry and Louis only.

“Harry, you going home, too?”

“Nah, we’re going to Grandma’s this year. She’s moved near London, so the entire family’s coming here.”

“Is she feeling better?” Louis knows she got hit with a really bad cough a couple of weeks ago.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, smiling up at him. He strokes Louis’ thigh warmly.

“That’s not the right question, though,” Niall interrupts. “The question is if _you’re_ feeling better, Tommo.”

“What do you mean?” Louis feels tense already. Niall’s got that look on his face.

“I thought you’d be dead after this weekend, mate.” Niall laughs. “You were wild.”

Louis slowly crosses his arms, stiffly opening his mouth. “I wasn’t wild.”

“Stop lying. You were drunk off your fucking arse.”

“Louis went crazy?” Ed asks, eyes wide. “I wish I’d seen it. Man.”

Louis clenches his teeth. If Niall would just close his mouth and talk about something else, please. Louis is having a really good night with Harry, and the last thing he needs is Niall talking about that stupid night.

“And he was all over Liam!” Niall laughs again, and Stan who was there as well grins evilly.

“Is he alive, mate? Did you fuck him in the taxi?”

Stan needs a damn filter.

“Shut it, it was hardly anything like that.”

Niall scoffs, and the rest of the boys chuckle. Louis hesitantly looks up at Harry, but he isn’t joining in on the laughter. He silently drapes his arm around Louis’ shoulder, but doesn’t look down at him to meet his eyes. Louis isn’t sure if he’s grateful or not.

“So, is he? Alive, I mean? He wasn’t too sober, either,” Stan says.

“How would I know?”

“What do you mean?” Stan asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t have his number,” Louis shrugs coldly.

“Stop acting so nonchalant,” Zayn sighs. “You never get excited about any boys, ever. Come on, Liam is great. Niall, you have the guy’s number, yeah?”

“Zayn,” Louis glares. Not again.

“Guys.” Harry clears his throat. “Let’s just lay off about it, okay?”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw them together, mate,” Stan chuckles. “They were practically having sex in front of me. Did he come home with you, Lou? Fuck you good?”

“Stan!”

“Christ, Lou. I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t, you’re such a prude.” Stan shakes his head. “It’s just funny, because you never go all out like that.”

“It’s not any of your fucking business,” Louis spits. He feels Harry by his side, and he feels hot, his heart beating out of his chest. He just wanted a couple of hours without worrying that night, and he doesn’t want Harry hearing any of this. He stands up, Harry’s arm sliding off his shoulder. “Just shut up about it.” He leaves the table, grabbing a beer off the kitchen counter. “I’m grabbing a smoke.” The ‘don’t follow me’ is clear.

His blood is ticking in his veins, and he feels horrible again. He didn’t want Harry to know more about that night than he already did. He hates the way Harry felt so stiff beside him. He doesn’t want to disgust him. Harry never goes for sloppy drunks, or hooks up in clubs. Louis feels sick with himself just because of the fact that he even cares what Harry thinks. It’s unhealthy. He knows Harry would never judge him, but he also knows he would never go for someone like that.

He takes a shaky drag from the cigarette. He’s so fucking tired of all of this.

The door to the balcony behind him opens, and he glances behind him. He rolls his eyes. “Zayn —”

“I’m not here to nag you,” he cuts off simply, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes of his own.

Louis is sitting on one of the plastic chairs, leaning on his thighs. He runs a hand back through his hair, dishevelling it in the go, just as Zayn lights up by the railing. They stay in each other’s silent company for a few minutes. He sucks on his cigarette. He’s not really a smoker, but it helps him calm down sometimes. The sensation isn’t doing its job tonight, though. He still feels awful.

“I don’t get it,” Zayn finally says. He’s looking out from the balcony, leaning on the railing, his back to Louis who is still on the chair behind him. “I don’t understand you, Lou. You’re one of my best friends, and I still don’t quite grasp you.”

Louis rubs his hands over his eyes.

“You’re one of those guys, you know?” Zayn says, turning around. “You want five kids before you’re thirty, you want two dogs and a cat, live in a big house somewhere with a big lawn. You want to marry young, and already know what you want to name your kids.”

Louis doesn’t see his point. All of his words are just a collective stab in the chest.

“Yet you never go for it. You never give anybody a fucking chance to prove to you that they could be _it_ for you.” He sighs, shaking his head as he turns around and stubs his cigarette. “You want so much, but it’s like you’ve already decided that nobody is ever going to want the same things. I don’t know what goes on inside that head of yours, but you want so much, yet you never try.”

Louis is biting his cheek so hard he can taste iron.

“I don’t know if it’s because you feel insecure, or not good enough, and in that case I have to beat you up and tell you that you are, alright?” Zayn grasps his shoulder, squeezing. “Liam is great, Lou. He’s your type of person. Just give him a chance.”

“Zayn,” Louis says croakily. “It’s not like that.”

His friend sighs for what feels like the millionth time. “I just want to help you, but nothing makes sense, Lou. You want all of it, but all I know is that if you keep going like this you’re never going to get it.”

The wind sweeps across them, and Louis nods, face still hidden behind his hands. The cold is seeping in through his shirt, and he knows he can’t do this anymore.

He gets up, not facing his friend. He stuffs his cigarettes into his pocket, and cranks the door open. “Let’s go inside.”

**

Louis has decided. He has to move on. He’s not getting Harry this Christmas, not the next one, and not the one in five years, either. He’s never going to end up with him. Harry is never going to magically open his eyes one day and realise he has been in love with him for all these years. It’s not going to happen, and yes, it fucking hurts.

But he is tired of hurting. He is tired of this, absolutely sick of it. There’s so much he wants, and ending up alone isn’t on the list. If he waits for Harry, he will.

On Sunday, he texts Zayn, _Can you get Liam’s number from Niall. Please don’t tell the boys._

Zayn answers instantly, _Absolutely. Love you xx_

He’s sure happy with Louis’ choice. Louis knows he only means well, but he feels uneasy. He’s never actively tried to get over Harry, not like this. It’s scary, and he doesn’t really want to do it, but he knows he has to.

**

“Do you want to watch a movie, Lou?”

Louis stops on his way out in the hall. Harry is on the couch, teacup in hand. His hair is newly washed, looking soft and curly. He is wearing a navy jumper Louis got him for his last birthday, all snuggled up in a blanket. If they do watch a movie Louis will with no doubt end up cuddled into him.

Every bone in him is aching for him to say yes, to stay in with Harry and stay in the bliss of the pretense — that it will all be fine eventually — for just a while longer.

“Actually,” he says slowly, biting his lip, “I was going to go meet, erm, Liam.”

Harry looks up properly for the first time. His eyes snap up, and he takes a long look at him. Louis feels terribly awkward, and stiff. He clears his throat, looking down at his toes while Harry looks him over, green eyes attentive, and teeth sunk into the corner of his plump bottom lip.

Louis crosses his arms in embarrassment. He actually tried to look nice today. It feels dumb now, standing in front of Harry, because who is worth dressing up for, if not him? But it is kind of a date after all, even if it isn’t quite ideal. So Louis’ fringe is extra feathery over his forehead, and he is in a lightly coloured grey scoop neck that hopefully makes his collarbones look at least a bit appealing.

Louis looks up again, expecting Harry to make a remark about this whole weird Liam-thing.

“You look very nice, Lou,” Harry murmurs instead. He doesn’t make another comment, and Louis can feel the heat spreading from his chest, up his throat and colouring his cheeks.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispers, fleeing down the hall, quickly stepping into his Vans and throwing on his jacket.

The air outside is cold and brisk. Harry makes him warm and bubbly inside, but the wind hitting his cheeks acts as the wake up call he constantly needs to remind him he can’t keep living in a fantasy. Reality can be the hardest part of life sometimes.

He’s early to the little pub he is meant to be meeting Liam at. He supposes he left home in a bit of a hurry. He sits nervously in one of the booths, biting at his nails as he waits. He contemplates ordering a pint, although, he thinks it would probably be more polite to wait.

Liam arrives two minutes past one. He is smiling, eyes bright and cheeks bitten by the cold. He shrugs out of his coat, and underneath he is wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt, rolled up to the elbows. Even if Louis isn’t drunk, he can tell that he is almost lip-bitingly attractive. His arrow tattoo is on display, too.

Liam isn’t a bad date. Not at all, actually. He greets Louis with a warm hug, hands at a respectable level on his back. He is joyful and chatty, immediately ordering them a big pint each.

Louis feels terribly inadequate at first, maybe a little shy, too, because he hasn’t done this in years. He doesn’t know what’s appropriate for a first date, or what goes for first kisses, even though they’ve technically already had theirs.

It amazes him, though, how quickly Liam can make him feel at ease. If it had been anyone else, Louis is certain he would be miserably longing for Harry and his capturing arms along with a movie right now. Surprisingly — or maybe not, Liam has proven in the past that he harbours the ability to make Louis feel somewhat good — Liam manages to make him take his mind off his best friend. He just ends up not really remembering his miseries for while. It’s terribly refreshing, and he finds himself once again enjoying Liam’s company.

He is on his second pint before long, and Liam has already finished his.

“Get your own,” he chastises with a smile, sliding the glass away from Liam’s hand.

“Sharing is caring, Lou-Lou,” he insists. He is snugly fitted into the booth beside him, leaning his arm on the table. He brings his other hand up, thumb lightly brushing a few strands of Louis’ short hair behind his ear.

“So I’ve heard,” Louis says, glancing up at him. Liam’s hand has landed on the top of his back, thumb and index finger light against his skin above the edge of his shirt.

“Share?” Liam blinks, pouting.

And that’s exactly something that Harry would have said. He would have blinked up at him, green eyes clear and big, dimples almost breaking out because of his inability to keep a straight face before laughing at Louis, who wouldn’t even hesitate to give him what he wanted.

Louis leans in and kisses him. It’s soft, and pleasant. He has kissed Liam before, and there are no surprises, and he likes it. It’s appropriate after all, if he’s going to do this moving on thing. And Liam deserves it, he thinks. He is really great.

Liam kisses him several times throughout their Sunday date after that. It’s sweet. They share some chips and another pint before Liam walks him to the underground station.

“So, can I take you to dinner on Tuesday?” Liam asks him as they say their goodbyes.

Louis swallows. “Sure,” he says. So, this thing is really happening then. It’s real.

He returns home with mixed feelings. He wonders if Harry still will be up for watching a movie, even though Louis abandoned him this morning.

When he opens the door to the flat, he is met by a laughter he doesn’t recognise. He looks down and sees a pair of shoes he hasn’t seen before, either.

He glances into the living room, and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Harry and a girl are on the couch, watching _The Proposal_. They’re in stitches over the scene with the grandma’s bonfire in the woods, a scene that Louis and Harry usually act out as they watch the movie themselves, and Louis feels something unreasonably angry spark in his stomach.

He clears his throat loudly.

Harry looks up. “Oh, hi, Lou. You’re home.” He smiles at the girl. “Kate, this is Louis. My roommate.”

“Hey,” Louis says tightly, curtly leaning over and shaking her hand. In his head there’s a black tie orchestra honing the tunes of a song that will later on be presented as _Fuck You._

He gives Harry a nod before escaping into his room, helplessly falling onto his bed. He is not the love of Harry’s life. He is not his best friend, either. Apparently he has been downgraded to a ‘roommate’.

Fuck. Everything.

He can hear their laughter into his room. When they go quiet he’s seventy-five per cent sure they are kissing.

Louis plays Slipknot on top volume in his room the rest of the night.

**

So, he dates Liam. And it’s… not horrible. Harry is apparently dating that bargirl as well, and that on the other hand makes Louis want to barf. She’s not even that pretty. Louis has got way better bone structure.

For two weeks Louis has dated Liam now. The only people who know are Zayn and Harry. They thankfully haven’t told anyone; the lads would never let him live it down.

It’s weird. Suddenly he spends all of his free time with someone other than Harry, and it feels incredibly strange, but also freeing. However, his lovesickness doesn’t get better. It makes a screeching halt on the freeway, and starts idling in the same spot, nagging him through every minute he’s alone. It scares him how stuck his brain and heart are. He’s almost scared to be alone with Harry sometimes, because he is afraid he’ll snap and let everything out at once. He has imagined that scenario. What if one day something will rip down the zipper, and he’ll explode and reveal it all? He can’t really see it, though, Harry finding out. It seems too foreign.

But, he hasn’t let it slip in over twelve years, and he figures that won’t be the case. Hopefully.

So, he spends every free moment with Liam. He gets familiar with his flat, and his roommate Andy. He has a toothbrush in the cupboard in his bathroom, and keeps a jumper in one of Liam’s drawers in case he gets cold in the mornings at breakfast. Liam is a good cook. His French toast is great, although, Harry usually makes his favourite: egg on toast.

They haven’t slept together, because they haven’t been drunk enough, and Louis can’t bring himself to when he is sober. Andy is at home in the flat a lot, though, and Louis makes it up in his head that that’s the reason. Liam doesn’t ask, either, and Louis is quietly grateful.

Liam manages to keep him slightly distracted, but it’s not quite enough. It won’t ever be — deep down he knows that.

He feels bad, too, sometimes. While Liam is holding his hand and kissing his cheeks, Louis is imagining it’s his best friend. He shouldn’t be tugging Liam along, encouraging him when he fucking knows so well that Liam will never be able to fully replace the large part of Louis’ heart that is kept solely for Harry. 

When it’s finally the beginning of December, Louis and Liam have been going out for almost three weeks. As the time passes, he hates himself a little more.

Louis gets home after work on a Monday, and is immediately caught off guard when Harry wraps him up in a bear hug as soon as he steps into the kitchen.

He smells like a bit of cologne, supper, and that specific smell of just _Harry_. Louis inhales him, burying his face into his neck. Harry keeps them tightly locked together, and Louis squeezes him back, unable to let him go. He loves him so much it’s painful.

“Hi,” Harry whispers, Louis feeling his cheek against his hair.

“Hey,” he whispers back, neither of them breaking the hug nor the quiet.

“I’ve missed you.”

Louis swallows, guilt already drenching every sense of reason within him that’s telling him that this has been necessary. But if he doesn’t do this he will stay hung up and lost on Harry for the rest of his life. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I get it,” Harry murmurs. And, no, Louis wants to say. Harry isn’t supposed to understand why Louis has abandoned him almost completely these last weeks. “New boyfriend, and all. It’s exciting.”

“It doesn’t make up for being a shit best friend, though,” Louis insists. “I’m honestly crap, Haz.”

“It’s fine. I don’t know, I just feel so… far from you.” Harry releases him, smiling down a bit shyly, shrugging a little. “I just miss you, I guess.”

 _You break my heart every single day, don’t you_ , Louis thinks.

“I’ve made dinner. Let’s watch Gogglebox and eat, yeah?”

They do. It’s nice, and Louis silently confirms to himself how Liam hasn’t helped his unrequited love case at all. It keeps him distracted for the moments he is with him, but his love for Harry never ceases.

Harry laughs at the screen, eyes falling on Louis to see if he’s laughing, too. Louis grins back at him, and their eyes stay locked for an extra moment. Harry’s eyes are twinkling in a colour of clear green that resembles glass, and Louis’ insides burn. 

No. Being with Liam hasn’t helped. Instead it has spiked his yearning tenfold. His fingers are itching to slip into Harry’s soft curls, to tug him in the right direction: Louis’ mouth. Liam doesn’t kill his love for Harry, he only keeps it in chains, making it fight that much harder each time he’s in his best friend’s proximity. 

“Love you, mate,” Louis says, hiding his true affections behind the platonic pet name. 

Harry grins back. “Me, too.”

He opens his arms, and Louis should be ashamed of how fast he sinks into them, nose burrowing into his neck. God. His skin is warm and smells like boys do, all warmth and musk. He can feel him breathe in steady movements, shoulders rising and falling where Louis is tucked into his neck. There is nothing in the world he wouldn’t give to be allowed to press a small kiss to the curve of his neck, suck a small bruise there to prove to the world that Harry is his. 

There is another mark already on his body, on the inside of his arm. _Hi_. The first word Louis ever said. The tattoos had been Louis’ idea, and the words had been Harry’s. Harry is already Louis’, and Louis is already Harry’s, but unfortunately, not in the way he wishes.

He can’t do this. 

He feels his heart start to pound. It’s never felt like this. The separation between them is making him feel so much worse. Is this what it’s going to be like after he tells him he loves him? Will their friendship cease, will the times the see each other lose frequency, growing further and further apart? Will they be able to repair the friendship? God, will Louis ever get over Harry even when he tells him it isn’t mutual? Fuck, will Louis have to move out? 

And the scariest thing about all of these thoughts is that they all involve Louis actually telling Harry the truth. He will one day stop lying — which is what he is doing, and has done for the last twelve years. It scares him to death, but the alternative is worse. He won’t be standing there, sixty years old, seeing Harry’s grandchildren for the first time, while Harry’s kids call him Uncle Louis. All alone. Because he never told Harry, and he never moved on. 

Louis completely jolts when Harry digs his deft fingers into his ribs. He gasps, squirming as Harry tries to tickle him, hands everywhere. He laughs, that hitchy sound of his, and tries to hold him still. Louis can barely breathe as he pushes Harry’s hands from his body in vain. It’s futile, because Harry had the upper hand from the start, Louis too occupied by his wandering mind. 

“Harry!” he gasps, stomach jumping each time his fingers poke into his side where he is especially ticklish. 

Harry laughs, trying to hold him still. Louis jerks away from him, falling back onto the couch, Harry following. His hands never stop fumbling over his body, Louis helpless beneath him. It’s almost too much. While the touches are platonic, Louis’ breathing is already ragged, and his pulse is ticking away at a rapid pace. 

He manages to shove the arm Harry is leaning on, making yelp as he falls down onto Louis’ chest. He giggles, completely unaware of what the proximity is doing to Louis. The tickles stop, but Harry leans up on his arm, hovering over Louis with a small grin on his face, eyes shaped into smiley crescents. 

Louis can only stare, entirely breathless, and painfully in love. Harry is so close, lips plump and coated with a faint sheen of saliva. His mouth opens just a little, eyes locked on Louis’ face as he stares right back. He inches forward just a fraction of an inch. 

Louis’ heart pounds so hard, he thinks it’s going to break through his ribcage. Is he…? Oh, dear god, is he going to…?

His pulse is too fast, chest tight. His eyes are locked on Harry’s lips that are so close — so fucking close — and he is nearly shaking beneath him. 

_Kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me,_ kiss _me_.

Harry leans forward, just the tiniest bit, again. Louis stops breathing. 

And then Harry chuckles, an amused sound that comes with a confused, albeit curious, glint in his eye. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” He wants to die. 

He shifts, shuffling out from beneath Harry, making him frown at his sudden moves. Harry slides off his lap, swallowing as he watches Louis run a hand over his face. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, worry obvious in his whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, turning his face away. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I have to… I’ll be right back.”

He abruptly stands from the sofa, swiftly walking away, heading into the bathroom. He locks the door instantly behind him, turning on the tap before he slumps down on top of the toilet. Sobs are escaping up his throat before he can stop it.

Fuck. He is so fucking pathetic. What is he doing? What is happening? Why is he crying? Since when has he ever freaked out because he thought Harry would kiss him and didn’t before? Because after twelve and a half years, yes there have been a handful of occasions where he has genuinely thought that Harry would do it. But he never does, and Louis never loses it, and certainly not to this extent.

What is wrong with him? 

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is low, concerned. He is just outside the door, perhaps leaning against it. 

Louis swallows, squeezing his eyes shut, but the tears traitorously slip down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want Harry to know he is crying, and he doesn’t want him to ask why. The reason fucking tears him apart every fucking day. 

“Love, are you all right?”

“Yes,” he calls, which he shouldn’t have done because his voice audibly breaks on the vowel. 

“Lou, are you crying?”

Go away. Go away. Go away. 

“Louis? Babe?”

“Go away.”

“What?” Harry asks, sounding like he is frowning. “Can you close the tap? I can’t hear you.”

Louis’ hand closes it with a snap, sudden anger seizing his bones. Fuck this. Fuck Harry. Fuck everything. He almost says it out loud. _Fuck you_. 

Panic, and most of all fear, rushes through him so suddenly he starts with a jolt as soon as the last two words have carved through his mind. He almost feels nauseous. The fear that his love for Harry is transitioning into something spiteful almost paralyses him, and then there is white, hot panic shooting through his veins. He feels too warm, insides crawling. 

“What is going on, Louis?” Harry asks, clearly worried. “Did something happen?”

_No, just the usual. A normal day of being in love with you._

And that is bad. A normal day is hurting inside, sitting in here, crying. It’s not healthy. It’s not good. 

“Is it Liam?” 

Louis looks up from his hands. Liam? The panic is still flooding freely, and he finds himself urgently nodding. 

“Yes,” he croaks out. He doesn’t hate Harry. He will never hate Harry, and he won’t allow the angry monster within him make him think that this is Harry’s fault. It isn’t Harry’s fault. 

“What happened?” Harry asks sadly.

“We… we had a fight,” he shakily makes up.

“Oh, no. Babe, what happened?”

“I… I…” He doesn’t know. He is drawing a blank. His breathing hitches, and his heart is pounding too hard. He feels too hot. 

“Louis?” Harry asks, sounding sufficiently worried now. “Can you please come out? We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, okay? Just come out, please. I don’t want you in there by yourself.”

Louis’ fingers are shaking, and he is pathetic. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He has to get up. Go out there and talk, be a fucking normal friend. A roommate. Not in love with his best friend. 

“Okay,” he whispers. Okay. 

He stands, legs weak, and all of a sudden he feels entirely spent. He just wants to go to bed. Walking over to the door, and slowly turning the lock, his head is pounding as if he were deprived from water for too long. He wipes his cheeks one last time before he slowly pushes the door open, keeping his head down, fringe hiding his red, bleary eyes. 

Harry’s arms wrap around him at once, locking around his shoulders tightly. Louis has to force himself to knit his own around Harry’s waist, because deep down he is scared that Harry is going to say something out of pure kindness, but unknowingly that something is going to rip Louis apart, because at certain points simple friendship from Harry is unbearable. 

“Lou,” Harry hums after a few silent moments. His knitted jumper is warm against Louis’ cheek, smelling like the detergent they’ve used for years now. “It’s going to be fine. Whatever it is, it will be okay.”

Louis tries to believe that Harry is telling the truth, but he knows that Harry can’t know that, and definitely not when he isn't aware of what is actually burning inside of Louis. He doesn’t know, and when he does it’s not going to be easy. There is no way to know if it’s going to be okay. 

God.

“I’m so tired,” he sighs, the sound almost a whimper. His shoulders loosen a bit for the first time, even though he is still aching. He is so, so tired. He just wants this to be over. 

He feels Harry’s hand slip into his hair, nails scratching gently against his scalp as he rocks his body where they stand. He is enveloping him almost entirely, keeping him locked in his warmth. Louis wishes so badly that he could stay. 

He continues to card his fingers through Louis’ hair as he speaks, voice low in a murmur. “Maybe we should have a night, like, just for the two of us.”

“What do you mean?” he whispers back. 

“We’ve been so… busy lately.” There is a slight strain in his voice when he continues. “We haven’t really talked in so long. Let’s just have a night for us, drink tea, talk, and eat cookies. I think we need each other.”

“Okay,” Louis says, agreeing. Soon, please. He misses him. “Okay. On Tuesday?”

Harry hesitates. “I have work quite late.” 

“I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. When you come home we’ll hangout. I’ll wait up.” 

He is so fucking desperate right now. He is desperate to just… He wants his friendship, but he doesn’t. He wants his love, but only in a certain way — it makes him feel so gruesomely selfish sometimes. But at other times… he just wants Harry, without any titles or labels on what they are whatsoever. He wants them to be easy again. It hasn’t felt truly easy in a long time. 

“Okay,” Harry agrees. 

They stay close, keeping their arms around one another. Louis doesn’t want to let go.

**

Louis decides to tell the group after that. Technically, Liam is still a secret, and if he is a secret then Louis is still able to nestle some of his feelings for Harry away, keep them, when what he should be doing is throwing them all away. He needs to bring Liam out in the light, so that he can burn Louis’ feelings for Harry to the ground for good.

He starts by asking Liam if he would like to, maybe, perhaps, meet his friends, officially. It feels like a big step, and it seems even larger than he thought when Liam looks back at him with eyebrows arched in surprise, eyes big. 

“Oh,” Louis says, heat crawling up his neck. “Was that too soon?” he mumbles. 

“No, no,” Liam hurries. “Of course not. I have met some of them before. I guess I’m just surprised. I didn’t think…” His hand reaches for Louis’. “It didn’t feel like that was something you wanted, or was ready for.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, a small wrinkle forming between his brows. His heart pounds a little faster. 

Liam shrugs, but his voice benevolent. “It just seemed to me you were in a place where you needed things to be slow.”

Louis swallows. Liam is obviously a lot more perceptive than he thought. 

“I still want… like, I still want us to take it slow,” he whispers. 

Liam smiles down at him, eyes entirely soft. “I’m okay with that, Lou,” he says warmly. “As a matter of fact, that sounds lovely,” he purrs, and gives Louis a sweet peck on the lips. 

Louis feels so guilty he almost contemplates telling the man the truth.

**

While Louis is somewhat worried about the upcoming night with Harry, he is still finding himself looking forward to it. He’s worried he’ll end up losing it like the other night, but he misses him so much it aches. He longs for the friendship they had before, just a few weeks ago. This November and December have been excruciating. Louis has never experienced a time when their friendship has been like this.

They see each other every day, yet they don’t. It doesn’t quite count. Harry makes breakfast, and leaves a sandwich for Louis, or puts out the cereal for him. Louis gets up just when Harry is leaving for classes, greeting him briefly before he disappears. Louis goes to work, comes home and eats, and then hurries away to Liam before his nerves can start playing up. He’s afraid he will crack, and he doesn’t want Harry to see him like that again, because he doesn’t want him to know that something is severely wrong. He doesn’t want him to know that it’s him, _them_ , that’s tearing him apart from the inside. 

Yet, he finds himself longing to see him. Tuesday comes around soon enough, and Louis gets home from work, watercolour in his eyebrow and clay under his nails. Harry is going directly to work after his afternoon class, and won’t be home until nine. 

He spends a few hours cleaning up his room, simply because it needs to be done, and it’s a good distraction from the nagging thoughts that are perpetually hovering in the back of his head. There are clothes littering the floor, two empty glasses on his nightstand, and old socks at the end of his bed. He puts on his favourite album of the moment — Badlands (Deluxe) — and sings along now and then. For a moment he actually feels at ease. It’s rare, only happens when he is completely consumed at work, busy with screaming and hysterically laughing children, occupying both mind, hands, hips, and knees. 

When he is done, he starts preparing dinner. Harry usually eats during break at work, but he also tends to want something smaller when he gets home, too. So, Louis tries frying up some vegan nuggets, finding some taco sauce to dip them in. 

Liam texts him a few times while he cooks. Louis told him he couldn’t join him and his friends at the club tonight, but promised he’d join them tomorrow or later this week. He knows he should probably be bothered by his boyfriend going clubbing with his friends who are notoriously reckless party-people, but, to be fair, that’s what Louis liked about Liam when they met. He can’t blame him for wanting to hangout with his friends, and he doesn’t want to change him into something he isn’t. And, even if Liam did do something with another person, who would Louis be to get angry? It’d be hypocritical. That’s not to say he wouldn’t care, because deep down maybe he would, but not for the right reasons. Still, it’d be hypocritical. 

Louis doesn’t realise it’s already well past nine until he is setting the last of the food on the coffee table. It looks nice; food warm and smelling good, tea mugs waiting to be filled with hot water from the pot, tails hanging out, and a couple of small lit candles, giving the room a cosy atmosphere. It all hopes for platonic cuddles and warmth. Harry is a little late, but it’s okay. Maybe he got held up. 

While he waits a thought hits him. Anne’s holiday jumpers are tucked into a drawer, but it’s December now, and she would be so happy in case Louis got her another picture of the two of them dressed in them. He picks his out, knitted in blue. He slips it over his t-shirt, sleeves covering half of his hands, just how he likes it. He loves Anne a lot. 

Fetching Harry’s, he walks back to the sofa, sitting down to wait for Harry to come home. He fiddles with Harry’s jumper for a bit, folding it and then folding it again until it lies smoothly against the cushion of the sofa by his side. He drums his fingers on his thigh. He plants his elbow on the other, chin eventually ending up placed in his hand. 

There is a loose string in the blanket by his side… Would cutting it off with a scissor help, or simply make it worse? 

Oh, God.

He buries his face in his hands. 

It’s ten o’clock when his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

_What are you doing? xx_  
_Miss youuuuuuuuuuuuu_

It breaks his heart. It breaks his heart because he is waiting for best friend and the love of his life to come home to spend time with him, and he won’t. He’s not home. And Liam misses him, and here Louis is, clinging on to so something he is pushing to the edge of the cliff. Keep him away, but make him _stay_. 

He can’t answer. All he can do is stare at the black telly, his own reflection a pathetic blur. The candles flicker in there, almost burned out. He stares until the light disappears. 

The front door cracks open at twelve-thirteen. Louis doesn’t know why he is still sitting there on the couch, legs crossed in front of him, arms on his thighs as though he were meditating. The candles stopped burning half an hour ago. He listens to Harry kicking his shoes off, probably wore sneakers today as he would be far more reverent toward his boots. He listens to the sound of the coatrack creaking as annoyingly as it always does, and then hears the lazy steps leading into the kitchen and living room. 

He doesn’t look up when Harry stops in the doorway. Harry is silent, and Louis’ gaze on the telly doesn’t shift. He doesn’t look at the candles, or the food, and definitely not at the green Christmas sweater waiting on the other end of the sofa. 

Harry slowly steps around the coffee table, stopping right in front of Louis, who is met by the view of Harry’s stomach. He’s in black jeans, holes at the knees, a black leather belt tightly fastened through the loops. He is in a blue shirt, unbuttoned to his tummy, a black blazer on top. He is hours late, and he is absolutely beautiful.

There’s a plastic card hanging from his neck, a laminated badge of some sort. Harry has a friend who works for radio, and he only wears those when he gets invited along to some party or a concert.

“You were out with Nick,” Louis says unblinkingly. He stares at the laminated card, and it burns how much one can envy an inane piece of plastic. “You forgot.”

Harry’s mouth opens — Louis doesn’t see it, but he hears the small coarse sound that Harry makes when he doesn’t know what to say. 

Louis doesn’t have the energy to fight, not even to get angry. He just wanted their night. He wanted to be with Harry, just to talk and have fun. Despite being desperately in love with him, he’s still his absolute best friend.

“Lou…” Harry whispers, the apology on the top of this tongue, and almost carved into his forehead as well. Louis looks up to his face as he speaks. He is beautiful. Boys like Harry get away with murder.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

Harry doesn’t protest.

They watch Love Actually. It’s their favourite, and they watch it all the time. Harry makes them new tea. He knows exactly how Louis takes it, and for some reason that makes his chest ache even worse. It’s not about the tea.

“I miss you,” Harry whispers to him at the end of it. They’ve been silent through the entire film, sitting a foot apart on the sofa. They usually cuddle.

Harry’s lips are hovering over his second cuppa, and his eyes are trained on the screen. Louis looks back at the TV. 

“I miss you, too.”

They go to bed with few words and nothing solved. Louis feels stupid for wishing they could go back just one night to be like they were, before Liam and Louis' attempts to move on. Apparently they can’t be that way anymore. Something is changing this season, and, as he shuts his eyes before the tears swell in his eyes as he pulls the duvet over his shoulders, hurt sore in his chest, he doesn’t know if it’s for the better or not.

**

Overthinking becomes an hourly thing after that night. Contemplation, pondering, reflection, evaluation, _re-evaluation_ , and mulling over. So much mulling over.

He doesn’t know if he is overreacting lately, or if he finally has realised that this is what their friendship has always been like. Everything in the past is a blur lately. Did Harry always used to forget things like this? Is he being sensitive, or is the person who Harry has been lately not the man he has been in love with for twelve years? 

He closes his eyes, shaking his head. He _is_ being sensitive. This season is fucking him up. Of course Harry is still his lovely self. Louis is fucking up, and so has Harry. Everybody makes mistakes. 

“Is it at seven tonight?” Zayn asks from where he is leaning against the kitchen counter in Louis and Harry’s flat. 

“Yep,” Louis nods, biting his lip. Niall has been nagging the shit out of them to host a hangout for all them. They haven’t all been in one place in since poker night at Ed’s, and while Louis is looking forward to it a bit, he feels a chilly ball of dread inside. 

“And Liam is coming?” Zayn arches a brow.

“Mm-hmm.”

Zayn inches closer, arching both of his brows now, forcing Louis to meet his eyes. “Are you nervous?” he murmurs. 

“Why —” Louis takes a deep breath. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Because the lads are gonna roast him?”

Louis breathes out. “You told them to go easy, right?”

He ticks his head to the other side. “Well, Harry will have your back. And Niall, maybe.”

Louis isn’t so sure about that. Niall will think Stan and Ed are too funny when they try to grill Liam, and Harry has been… weird. Even a bit more than what has become their ‘usual’ these last few weeks. He looks almost apprehensive when he is around Louis, like he is stepping around glass. Louis he hates it. Everything is so strange. 

It’s so fucked up, and no one know’s about it, what their friendship has turned into after only weeks. He couldn’t tell the boys because none of them would understand and get obscenely awkward about it, and his mother would wave it off, saying they will work it out in a day or two, because they are _Harry and Louis_. _Harry and Louis_ doesn’t seem to hold the same meaning anymore.

Louis and Zayn, alone in the flat for the moment as Harry is currently at work, are preparing dinner. It’s nothing extravagant, but they got bored of FIFA and decided they might as well get some of it done. They are supposed to be peeling potatoes, but they seem to have abandoned it halfway. There are Christmas tunes on low volume playing from the speaker, a list Niall and Stan put together a few years ago. Mariah Carey comes on. Louis can’t handle it. 

He walks over, skipping it just as Mariah is about to sing the lines that pretty much define Louis’ life lately. 

“You okay?” Zayn asks, watching him warily. 

Every Christmas is hard. This one takes the fucking cake. 

“I’m alright,” he says, throat sore. 

“You don’t like that song?” He arches another brow. He does that far too much. 

Louis shrugs. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

Zayn turns back to the potatoes. They don’t really talk as they finish them up, the skin filling up the sink and clinging to the wet surface. Louis feels like that a bit sometimes, like he is clinging on to a flat surface, nothing to grasp on to, helplessly kicking his legs not to get pulled down the drain. But it’s inevitable. Sometime it has got happen. Louis is not ready yet. 

It’s only five-thirty when Niall stumbles into the flat, beaming, cheeks pink and nose cold. He kicks off his shoes by the door, and unceremoniously tosses his jacket into Louis’ room without a look, before he walks straight into the room, grabs Louis’ shoulders and shakes him once. He keeps his hands locked around his shoulders, grinning like a madman. Louis inches his head away, giving Zayn a glance from where he is pressed against the kitchen worktop. 

“What’s up, Ni?” Zayn asks apprehensively. 

He shakes Louis once more. “I met someone.”

Oh, god. 

“Let me go, please.”

Niall keeps beaming, shakes Louis one last time, lets him go, and wraps Zayn up in a hard hug, jostling him. He dives into a story of how he met the girl of his dreams. He’d been waiting for the shuttle, sitting down on the bench, putting his headphones in. Not realising the bus was approaching, he didn’t see it until it was only a few metres away, and he didn’t have time to stop it before it drove right past him, despite his waving arms. The girl, walking her seven months old Labrador, had laughed at him, but smiled sympathetically. They ended up talking, and she was heading the same way as Niall. She walked him all the way over here. 

It’s pathetic how inexplicably jealous Louis feels. 

“Can I please bring her on Boxing Day?” Niall pleads, eyes round, hands locked in a prayer as he stares at Louis. 

“Woah,” Zayn interrupts cautiously. “Boxing Day? Really? You met her an hour ago.”

“Zee,” Niall sighs. “She is the one. I just know. She’s beautiful, her laugh is contagious, and her dog is the cuddliest. She has changed my view of life, she just… jumped into my world, and we talked. We talked for so long. She is brilliant.”

Zayn surveys him for a long moment, while Louis can do nothing but sink his hands into the pockets of his sweats. Niall raises his brows expectantly, looking at Louis and then back at Zayn again. He looks so happy, Louis would feel absolutely callous to say no. Zayn must feel the same way. 

“Okay. I’m okay with it,” he sighs. “Pezza is coming, too. Just so you know, Lou.”

Louis swallows. “Harry and I haven’t discussed Boxing Day yet, but… Yeah. Sure.”

Boxing Day is their day. They spend the day together, celebrating Christmas and their friendship. Louis doesn’t know how Harry feels about Boxing Day anymore. 

Seven o’clock rolls around eventually. Until then it’s just Melissa, Melissa, Melissa… Niall won’t shut up about her. Louis doesn’t know if it’s annoying, or a good distraction. Some of both, probably. Louis gets dressed in his black jeans, a dark blue button down on top that he buttons all the way up but doesn’t tuck in. He begins to feel his nerves when Harry gets home, and Liam texts him he is leaving his flat in a bit. 

Liam and Harry, officially meeting is… It makes him feel a bit nauseous, and thus he downs the entire egg nogg Zayn hands him once he enters the kitchen where Harry is finishing up dinner. It smells amazing, of course. 

“Smells lovely,” he tells Harry, before Zayn’s eyes on his empty glass become too much. Harry looks up, surprised. 

A small smile etches onto his face, and his eyes meet Louis’ for a moment. “Thanks,” he murmurs, swallowing. Louis stays locked in his gaze for a bit longer, a small part of him wondering why Harry is looking at him like that. Sweet, confused, and reverent. 

A knock on the door interrupts them, and Louis quickly jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Ed. That’s probably him, yeah.” 

He quickly spins around and heads out of the kitchen, walking down the short hallway between his and Harry’s rooms to the door. He needs to unwind. He feels too uptight. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, ready to greet one ginger man. Instead he is faced with his boyfriend. 

“Hey, babe,” Liam smiles warmly. Louis entire chest flutters with nerves. 

“Hi,” he whispers, quickly stepping into his arms. Liam hugs him closely, nose in his hair. It’s been a few days since they saw each other, and it was only quickly before Liam had to see his friend who he’d promised to catch a movie at the cinema with. He smells like his cologne, and his jacket is a bit cold. 

“You all right?” Liam asks, patting his back. For a second Louis finds himself wanting to stay in his hug, just for a few moments longer so he doesn’t have to go through with the night yet. Liam has been his safe haven, a place away from home to escape to when his feelings about Harry become too much. Colliding the two places feels like a clash. 

“Fine. Nervous?” He pulls back, looking up. 

“Not really,” he smiles. “Niall’s a good mate. Are you?”

“Yeah,” Louis admits, pressing his lips together in a sheepish smile. 

“It’s okay, babe.” He leans down, a soft expression on his face when he gives Louis a small kiss on his plump lips. 

“Sheeran!” Harry’s voice is right behind them, and he must have just walked into the hall, not having seen it’s actually Liam. Louis jerks away from his boyfriend in surprise, turning around, cheeks deepening in red as he sees Harry’s shocked expression. “Oh,” he exhales. He shakes his head, curls flying around his heart-shaped face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Liam grins. “Harry, innit?”

“Yeah.” Harry walks over, extending a hand that Liam shakes. “Nice to meet you.” 

A small crinkle appears in his brow. Louis doesn’t know exactly what it means, but he knows that something isn’t all fine and dandy. He’s known Harry his whole life, and the kid is unable to be completely rude, but he knows that small quirk in his brow is not pleased. Louis doesn’t understand. 

“You, too,” Liam nods. 

Louis smiles awkwardly, and then tugs on Liam’s sleeve. “Coat?”

“Ah, thanks, babe.” Liam steps out of his shoes, and slides his coat off, letting Louis take it. All the while Harry stays silent, lips pursed, hands behind his back, weighing back and forth on his feet. Louis almost frowns. Harry is being weird. He thought things would be awkward, but awkward for _him_. Not for Liam and Harry. 

“Um, come on,” Louis says, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s say hi to Niall and Zayn.”

Liam takes his hand, and Louis determinedly doesn’t look at Harry as they amble off. Harry doesn’t follow. Louis takes Liam into his room first, putting his jacket on the bed, and casually throwing an arm out, smiling up with a shrug. 

“My room.” 

“Lovely,” Liam says, chuckling. “I like the striped socks on the chair the most.”

Louis gives him a genuine grin. “You’re a dick.”

Introducing Liam to Zayn and Niall is easy. Niall already for some reason has a connection with Liam, and Zayn is kind and easygoing, just like Louis asked him to be. Zayn is usually quite silent around new people, takes him a while to open up, but Louis can tell that he is making an effort to be as social as possible. Louis doesn’t know why, but he is thankful. It makes it less stiff, even though Niall never leaves a moment silent. But, Louis is also painfully aware of Harry’s absence. He must have gone to his room.

Perrie arrives soon after, and Stan and Ed together. The latter two open the front door without knocking, stumbling inside with loud voices and the sound of knocking shoes over and the coatrack creaking. They attack Liam straight away, as expected. Niall joins them, for no reason. Zayn tries to tame it down, but Liam doesn’t seem distressed. He keeps his arm around Louis’ shoulders as they lean against the kitchen counter, doesn’t bat an eye at Stan’s wriggling eyebrows at Louis, and Louis himself tries not to blush too hard. Liam is so easy and unabashed, and it makes Louis feel stupid for being so feisty when the boys have teased him in the past. His feelings for Harry make him uptight. 

The room smells warmly of chicken, gravy, potatoes, and salad. Ed goes to find Harry so they can eat, and they end up loading their plates at the kitchen counter, bringing cutlery and plates with them to the coffee table. Their kitchen table isn’t big enough for all of them, and the couch, armchair, and pillows around the table in the living room will have to suffice as always. 

Harry comes out of his room as Louis and Liam walk past the hallway, heading for the couch. Harry doesn’t say anything, only nods with a fast smile, making a beeline for the empty plate waiting for him in the kitchen. Louis averts his gaze and settles down in the far corner of the couch, Liam by his side. Perrie takes a seat beside Liam, Zayn next to her on the floor. Niall and Ed gather around the table while Stan steals the armchair. Harry presses himself in between Zayn and Niall. 

Dinner runs smoothly. Louis’ nerves settle down a bit, Liam is still at ease, and Niall talks loudly about his future wife, taking up most space as usual around the table. Harry doesn’t say much, mostly mumbles things to Zayn, poking at his food. Liam gives him a compliment about dinner that he answers quickly, eyes wide, but only meets Liam’s for a second. Louis squeezes Liam’s thigh, just to assure him it’s fine. Harry’s just… He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want him to worry, though.

They drink beer and some of them wine, and the conversations grow a little louder, a little raunchier. Harry gets a little less moody — even though he never he speaks in Louis or Liam’s direction — and banters across the table with Stan. Liam joins Ed and Niall in another conversation, and Perrie chats with Louis behind Liam’s back. For a while everything is fine. They exchange their empty plates for new ones, and a mudcake with vanilla ice cream is placed on the coffee table. Some of them head out to smoke the few minutes between meals, but they all come back to settle down around the table once more. 

It gets slightly more awkward when Perrie and Zayn start cuddling, ending up in their own world after having won over the armchair from Stan. Louis and Liam are the only remaining couple, and Louis’ skin gets warmer and itchier, self-conscious about his and Liam’s appearance. Do they look like a couple? Is it obvious Louis isn’t in love, and would rather be anywhere else when Ed and Stan look at him? Can Harry tell Louis and Liam haven’t even gotten each other off once? Not even a handjob?

“We should do a thanksgiving round,” Zayn suggests, Perrie cuddled to his side. “I already know what I am thankful for this year.”

No. No. Since when does Zayn of all people come up with this shit? Louis tries to stop it, he really does, but everyone is agreeing, even Stan, and Louis is quickly overruled. 

“I am thankful to have met my beautiful girlfriend, whom I love very much.” Zayn begins, and everybody aww’s. Perrie’s cheeks visibly warm, and Louis tries not to imagine a day where he could sit like that with Harry, unabashedly making him blush with praise of his beauty and admirableness. 

Stan gives thanks for his ‘awesome new job’, Niall moans on about Melissa for at least ten minutes before Ed cuts in, and before Louis knows it it’s his turn. Everybody looks at him expectantly, and for a second he doesn’t know what the fuck he is going to say. 

“Uhm.” He scratches his neck, heart beating faster. He can’t fucking say Liam because it’s not right. He couldn’t lie like that. Harry’s eyes meet his for the first time that night, from across the table. Louis misses him. He wishes he were by his side. 

Liam’s phone starts ringing where it’s resting on the table, saving him. He instantly apologises, picking it up. He squeezes Louis’ hand, and walks into Louis’ room to take the call. Louis watches him go, and when he looks back he has got Harry’s green eyes drilling into his own. And fuck it. He just wants to see him smile. Relax. Maybe even laugh. He says the stupidest thing he can think of. 

“Liam has a horse cock,” he says, and Stan, Ed, and Niall instantly burst out laughing. “That’s what I’m thankful for.”

Zayn and Perrie join in laughing, Zayn giving him a grin that looks almost proud for some reason. Louis expects Harry to giggle — he always does when Louis says stupid shit like that. Harry doesn’t laugh. Harry doesn’t say anything, and Louis feels farther away from him than ever. 

When Liam comes back, he informs them he regretfully has to leave. There’s an emergency at the station, and he needs to go fill in for somebody. Apparently he is sober enough to be able to, so he ends up telling his goodbyes. 

Louis follows him to the door, bringing him his jacket. Liam smiles at him once he’s got his shoes on. 

“Wasn’t so bad was it?”

Louis shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “No,” he hums. At least not when it comes to Liam. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He nods, and Liam kisses him for a moment longer than normal. Louis’ neck feels hot, knowing that Harry is close, only in the other room. He is given a last peck before Liam leaves. Louis turns around with a sigh, and stops short when he finds Harry actually leaning against the wall, just where the hall stops and opens into the living room. 

Louis swallows, arms crossing around his belly on their own accord. Harry doesn’t say anything, remaining as quiet as he has all night. He would seem indifferent, if it weren’t for his furrowed brow. 

“What is it?” Louis asks, and it comes out almost rude. He didn’t mean it to. He is exhausted by all of this. Harry still doesn’t make a sound, and Louis shakes his head. “Sorry.”

Without saying anything to the rest of the group, he heads into his room, calling it a night. Right before he closes the door, he hears him say it.

“Me, too.”

**

Harry is shoving cardboard boxes around the living room when Louis steps out of his bedroom at noon the following day. Louis’ eyes widen, and his entire chest tangles up in knots. His hand squeezes the door handle to his room so hard his knuckles whiten completely.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, petrified.

He can’t leave. He can’t fucking leave. 

Harry looks up at the sound of his voice, for a second hesitating before he speaks. He regards Louis for a moment, a small crease in his forehead. 

“I thought I’d bring out the rest of the Christmas decorations,” he says hoarsely. He clears his throat, eyes looking anywhere but at Louis then. “We haven’t switched the curtains, or the tablecloth. The red oven mitts should be in here somewhere…” 

“Oh,” Louis breathes. 

This is driving him insane. How paranoid can a person get?

“Do you need help?” he asks. 

He doesn’t look up. “No, it’s okay. Just brought it up from the storage room downstairs. We don’t have to put everything up today.”

Louis nods, and awkwardly heads into the kitchen for the cup of tea he had dragged himself out of bed for. The lads and Perrie had stayed far longer and were way louder than expected last night. Louis’ temples are aching from a headache he woke up to this morning, and the weird stiffness between him and Harry makes it even worse. 

How long will it be this way? he thinks to himself. Will it be like this until the day Louis gets his shit together and fesses up? Part of him still hopes he will never have to, that somehow Liam will someday just wipe away all traces of his love for Harry, and he can go back to being Harry’s friend with no inhibitions. It’s becoming less and less likely, however, if even likely at all. It’s not. It’s not plausible. 

The rest of the day is excruciating. Harry has neither classes nor work this Saturday, and Louis can’t come up with a single reasonable excuse to leave the flat. They don’t say much. Louis contemplates hiding away in his room, but there is a part of him that is aching to just be normal with Harry. Maybe one of them will say something, and the ice will break, they’ll laugh, and things might get just a bit better. They haven’t laughed together in weeks. 

So, Louis stays at the kitchen table, doing essentially nothing, while Harry sits on the sofa, doing nothing. On a normal day like this they would pop in a film, cuddle, or play board games. Maybe do a few rounds of FIFA, and order takeout. Not today, though. 

When the afternoon rolls in, the sky outside starting to darken, it becomes too much. Louis can’t stand waiting for Harry to say something, or for himself to come up with just something, _anything_ , to say to him. It’s painful, and it hurts, that he can’t even talk to his best friend anymore. His chest feels tight, his skin is crawling, and his headache refuses to stop throbbing. 

He texts Liam. He needs him to rescue him. He needs him to ground him, because this is making his head spin. He feels sick. 

_Can I come over pleaaaaseeee xxx_

_Andy has a bunch of friends over :(_

_Come here then, I want to touch you x_

_I’ll be over in 20_

He knows what he wrote implies things. Things. Maybe that is what he needs for everything to be pushed aside. Maybe getting over somebody really is getting under someone else. Niall always says so. 

He waits by the kitchen table, fingers drumming obsessively against the surface, staring at his phone resting there. He knows he should go shower, get himself clean, but he can’t get up. Part of him wishes Liam won’t be able to come at all. His fingers drum, and his head swims with thoughts, some telling him to just call and be rid of it, and the rest screaming that it would be a relief. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks from right in front of him. Louis looks up, watching as he walks around the table, heading over to their electronic teapot. 

“Waiting for Liam,” he replies, voice not louder than a whisper. Harry chuckles, just once, and it isn’t an amused sound. Louis almost calls Liam to tell him not to come.

Harry takes his teacup and leaves, and eventually Liam arrives. Louis doesn’t know what is worse: fighting with Harry, or this — this strange, almost rude, state their friendship has come into. Louis doesn’t understand why Harry is behaving this way, but then again, Harry has no idea why Louis has distanced himself from him. Neither of them is being fair.

Liam kisses him by the door. He smells like gingerbread, and his hands are tight on Louis’ back. Liam is warm, and Liam cares about him in all the right ways. Harry doesn’t love him like that, but at least Liam feels something in the right direction.

He takes his hands, and leads them over to his room. He can see Harry look up in his periphery where he is sitting on the couch, and Liam greets him before Louis pulls him away. He can’t talk to Harry. Not before he and Louis… He can’t talk to Harry.

Kissing Liam is warm and comfortable, and settling back on the bed underneath him isn’t horrible. He feels his hands gently on his sides, his body a firm weight on his torso as he kisses him languidly. But Louis can’t stop thinking. He can’t stop thinking that he hasn’t done this is in a long time, and the only person it would ever feel right with is sitting on a couch a room away. 

Louis would give up so many things to be able to do this with Harry, yet it feels like he is forcing himself to be here with Liam. He thought by being with Liam he could escape the overwhelming feelings that Harry brings, but this isn’t working. Liam has always been able to distract him, with jokes, cuddles, films, talks, and small kisses that don’t even mean anything. It’s just that all of those things — apart from the kisses — are only replacements of what he and Harry used to have. He went to Liam for the things he couldn’t do with Harry anymore because they made him love him too much. He needed somewhere else to get those things. It’s like he redirected his friendship elsewhere. The kisses, and the occasional grindings at clubs, don’t mean anything. Those things he can do with anyone when he is drunk. Sex, though. Sex means something. And that something he only wants to do with Harry. 

Their kisses falter for a second, and that second is enough for Louis’ insides to twist. He can’t do this. Because he doesn’t really want to. And he couldn’t do that, not to Liam. He has been so kind and patient, and Louis could never hurt him that way, by doing something with him he doesn’t actually want to.

Louis can hear the TV as if it were placed right by his side. It must be on the loudest possible option. Louis has no idea what the fuck Harry is doing out there, but it makes his head ache even worse. 

“I can’t do this,” Louis breathes. “I’m sorry, Liam.”

Liam rolls off him, only concern in his eyes. “Are you feeling all right?”

“My head hurts.” He sits up, and buries his face in his hands. “I don’t feel well.” God. He shakes his head, eyes starting to pool. “Will you cuddle me?” 

Harry would cuddle him. He would have. He would have held him. 

“Of course, babe,” Liam says. He holds him tightly, and Louis buries himself into his chest. 

Hold me, he thinks.

**

Internally he is bleeding. He is begging for another world, one where Harry doesn’t exist. Where he doesn’t have to love him, where he doesn’t have to kiss someone else to rid himself of the aching in his chest. A world where they could be best friends without troubles, a world where Harry loved him back. Anything. Anything at all. Anything but _this_.

**

It’s three AM when Louis wakes up. The apartment is warm, and his bed is soft. Liam is sleeping next to him, hand slack over his hip. After several minutes he deems it impossible to fall back asleep, so he gets up. His naked skin shivers when he leaves the warmth of the bed, and he slips into a new pair of pajama bottoms, pulling on his blue knitted Christmas jumper, and a pair of thick socks.

He quietly tips out of the room, and the sight that strikes him has him rendered speechless for a long moment. 

The entire flat is lit up with Christmas lights. The tree’s lights are on, there are small bulbs turned on in the corners of the room, Santa decorations everywhere. The plastic reindeer is up, and every candle is lit. Everything is dark apart from the candles, and red lights. It makes Louis breathless. It’s warm, and cosy, and the only thing missing is a cup of tea and gingerbread. 

In the middle of it is Harry. He is sitting lifelessly on the couch, feet on the floor and back against the cushions. He has got his green Christmas jumper on, too. 

“Wow,” Louis breathes. 

Harry glances up. “I couldn't sleep,” he murmurs softly. 

Louis quietly tips over, slowly sitting down on the couch next to him. “Me neither,” he whispers. 

They sit quietly next to each other. They say nothing for at least ten minutes. 

“I feel like you’ve drifted from me.” Harry’s voice is low, and Louis knows if he dared to look into his eyes he would find confusion in there. “You’re slipping away.”

Louis doesn’t answer, but he stands from the sofa, and walks over to the corner of the room and turns on the stereo. He switches songs until he reaches the last one.

“Dance with me,” he quietly requests, holding his hand out. 

Harry looks at it for a moment, but he stands up, and he takes it. He brings Louis to his chest, and then they dance. 

Coldplay. 

They sway from side to side, Harry twirls him, eyes shining, and Louis laughs, and for the first time in a long time they feel okay for a bit. They alter from slow dancing to some made up swing dance. It’s fun, and Harry smiles at him, and the candles around them form shadows up the walls. 

It’s almost scary. Louis is sure even his shadow is dying to hold Harry’s. (It’s like that — intangible.)

When the song starts to slow again, Harry brings him close, and Louis buries his face into his shoulder. 

_Those christmas lights_ … Chris Martin sings, and they sway and they sway. Louis can feel his body soak up Harry’s warmth. He wants to stay for more. Stay forever. 

For four minutes it’s easy. For four minutes he can pretend. For four minutes Harry loves him, too.

**

It gets better with Harry. For a bit. Harry tries to be a better friend, and Louis stops running away each time the flat is void of anyone but the two of them. It feels like a mutual agreement, since that night.

They drink tea, even though the conversation is stilted. They play scrabble, and Harry wins, because of course he does. Louis feels a little more like himself again. They watch Love Actually, because it’s tradition. Harry makes dinner that they eat with a vanilla scented candle lit at the coffee table, and they even get some Christmas lists done. They’re a bit behind on shopping. 

But, all the while they do this, it doesn’t feel as easy as it should. What is worst is that Harry doesn’t know why it is this way. He doesn’t know why Louis all of a sudden disappeared. He doesn't fully understand, and if there is anyone to blame for it, from his point of view, it’s Liam. Louis’ new boyfriend. Louis has been thinking it’s the reason he’d been so rude the other night. 

That’s why it surprises him that Harry agrees to join Niall and Louis at the pub with Liam and his friends. They are both trying to be better, though, so maybe that is the reason he comes along. Louis appreciates it, even if it feels heavy. 

Yet, he doesn’t feel ill this time before he is about to let his two worlds collide for a second time. Liam hasn’t said anything about Harry, and Louis doubts he will. They spend the night drinking pints, and snacking on peanuts. Niall and Liam get along better than Louis remembered, and Liam’s friends are nice as always. Harry tries. Louis can see it. Sometimes he looks at Louis with a small frown, but he tries. Louis wishes his own attempts were half as good. 

But… Liam has a best friend. Her name is Sophia, and she is kind of amazing. Liam adores her, she’s beautiful, incredibly nice, her voice sounds like summer, and Louis knows she hates him. 

“You hate me, right?” He slumps into the spot next to hers in the booth when it’s empty of the other lads. She opens her mouth, letting out a startled sound, but Louis is already waving her off. “It’s okay.”

“Louis —”

“It’s okay.”

She sighs, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,“ he says, placing his hand consolingly on her thigh. “I know,” he repeats. 

She glances up at him. She slowly follows his eye line, stopping on Harry, where he is sipping from a pint, Niall and Melissa in front of him. 

“I’m really sorry,” Louis says again, slowly. They’re all hung up on each other, and it’s all a tangled mess. Liam is her Harry, and Louis is her Kate. Louis would rather break his own fingers than be a Kate.

“Louis…” Sophia bites her lip, and the guilt in her eyes is prominent when Louis turns to meet them. “I’ve been trying _so_ hard not to be selfish, but if you don’t love him please let him go,” she whispers. “Don’t hurt him.”

Her words cut deeply, because he knows exactly what she feels. 

He takes her hand, their fingers tangling under the table. “I promise.”

He’ll let him go gently when he is ready. He can’t right now, though, but he will. He won’t keep him around if he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over Harry in the end. It’s currently looking bleak.

Liam gives Louis a small kiss before he jumps into the cab with Harry. He sees Sophia looking away from the corner of his eye, but he tries not to feel guiltier than he already does. He will let him go.

The entire cab ride is quiet. Nothing but silence stretches on as the car steers through the traffic. Louis blinks slowly, oddly relaxed though the last time they rode a taxi together he was tucked into Harry’s side, his arm around his shoulder. So much has changed in only weeks.

The ride takes fifteen minutes, but neither of them says a word. The cabbie leaves the radio on, _Fairytale Of New York_ on low volume. Louis is getting a bit tired of Christmas tunes.

They stop outside the building, and Harry pushes a couple of notes into the driver’s hand. They silently head up the stairs to the top floor, steps echoing against the walls in the dim stairwell. Neither of them turned on the lights. 

Harry unlocks the door, keys jostling and sounding eerily loud. Louis follows him inside, jacket slipping off his shoulders. He hangs it on the creaking coatrack, and kicks off his shoes. When he does, his hip knocks into Harry’s, and for some reason everything just stops. All of it. 

It all stills for a moment, nothing but Louis’ heart pounding twice, before Harry’s hand collides with Louis’ shoulder, knocking him roughly into the wall behind him. Breath escapes him, shock paralysing him to the bone. He blinks, confusion liquid in his veins. 

“What —” 

He can hear Harry’s fist colliding with the wall, and he ducks, fear almost making him shake. Harry is so close, hand resting against the wall above Louis, chest only an centimetres from his. His head is ducked, and Louis can’t tell what he is thinking. His heart pounds like a hammer, and then — he is crying. His hand slowly slips down to Louis’ arm, and then his forehead falls against the same shoulder, a hoarse sob slipping up his throat. 

Louis blinks, eyes wide. Harry sags completely, and his body falls against Louis’. His chest is flush against him, arms lax around him, and his nose is pressed to his throat. He sniffles, sobs making his whole upper body shake. Louis doesn’t know what do, confounded and lost. 

He feels Harry open his mouth against his neck, sending a gush of warm breath over his skin. He shivers. 

“I’m sorry,” he exhales. Another sob shakes them both. “I know… I know, I know, I know.”

Louis gasps, and a sob of his own rips through him. Harry knows. Oh, god, Harry knows.

Harry sniffles, snot sticky against the curve of Louis’ neck. Louis can’t breathe. 

“I know,” he says again. “I know I’ve messed up with us. I know I’ve made mistakes, and I know I hurt you when I forgot about our night.” He takes a deep breath. “But you…” He cries harder, shaking. “You are so far away.”

Louis closes his eyes. He doesn’t know. Harry doesn’t _know_.

He can feel him breathe against him, every part of him pressed to him, closer than they have been in months. It hurts, and it feels _so_ good, and Harry still doesn’t know. 

“I’ve fucked up, Louis, but _you_ are so far away,” he whispers. He sounds as desperate as Louis feels every day. “I miss you. And I’m worried, I — I don’t. I don’t _understand_. You’re distancing yourself… I don’t understand. I don’t. I’m worried. I miss you. I miss you so much — I love you.”

He is rambling, and tears are pooling in Louis’ own eyes. Harry sniffles. It hurts. Harry presses himself as close as possible, almost desperately so. 

“I don’t understand what happened between us, Louis.” His voice breaks on his name, and he falls into another round of sobs. 

Louis’ throat is so dry he can barely make a sound. “I didn’t mean to… “ he coarsely gets out, tears slipping down his cheeks. He whispers, unable to say anything else, “Liam.” 

He can blame it all on Liam, but it’s never going to be Liam.

Harry’s voice is suddenly fierce. He looks up, and his eyes are red and glassy, stormy. “You’re supposed to be loved up and happy when you’ve got a boyfriend, and you’re _not_.”

Louis’ heart clenches.

“You’re always away, but you don’t seem to be happy when you are back… Tonight, or when he was over. Or when you talk about him.” He shakes his head, another sob making his bottom lip shake. “You’re not happy… Lou,” he cries. “You aren’t.”

Louis can’t take this. It’s too much. His fingers are shaking as he clenches them around Harry’s shirt, pulling him in tighter. He is warm, but he jerks against Louis, sobs scratching his throat. Louis has never seen him cry like this. He doesn’t think he has ever felt him like this, either. It’s different from when Louis was crying in the bathroom, hiding from Harry. This time Harry is hurt, and it’s all Louis’ fault. 

Harry’s hands creep up Louis’ arms, sliding up his shoulders until he is cupping his neck, face so close his hair is brushing Louis’ throat. The tears are streaming silently down Louis’ cheeks, and all he can do is stare as Harry continues, fingers solid and scary around his neck. 

“Love is supposed to make you feel good,” he whispers, and it’s so fucking intimate Louis’ lips can feel Harry’s breath on them. “You don’t look good, Lou.”

The flat is dark, and Louis’ heart pounds against his ribcage, Harry clinging to him, hands framing him in. His thumbs stroke the very edges of his jaw by his ears, looking at him like he doesn’t know what the hell to do anymore. 

“I love you,” Louis whispers, surprising himself. “I love you so much.”

“Oh, god, Lou,” Harry exhales, forehead falling into the crook of his shoulder. He breathes him in deeply, chest rising and falling heavily against Louis. “I love you, too. Miss you,” he sniffles. 

Louis should say it. 

But Harry’s mouth is warm against his neck, nose pressing against his skin. He is warm, and his arms are locked around him, and Harry loves him so much, and Louis can’t bring himself to destroy this. The mantra he stopped using weeks ago flashes to his mind. He closes his eyes. 

_It gets better. It will pass. His friendship is enough._

He feels something wet just above the jut of his collarbone. It takes him a moment to realise. Harry kisses him, soft and lingering. 

Louis doesn’t think. He does not hope. He doesn’t do anything. 

Harry’s lips leave him, a brush of air sweeping across his skin as he does. He hugs him tighter, head lifting. His lips graze Louis’ ear. 

“Don’t know why I did that,” he whispers, breathing straight into his ear, words hidden in there, “I wanted to.”

Louis closes his eyes, arms tightening around Harry. He feels the press of his lips against his jaw, his neck, his throat, over and over again. He doesn’t know if Harry even knows why he is doing it, but eventually he feels him sag against him once more. Their sobs stop eventually, too, but they stay locked in each other’s arms. Louis’ head lolls back against the wall, Harry buries himself closer in his neck, and their arms around one another never relent. 

_I love you_ , Louis thinks.

**

Christmas is coming up, only a week away. They don’t talk about the night. Louis woke up in Harry’s bed, cuddled around him like old times when they were teenagers, but they never talk about it. Louis still can’t explain anything to Harry, and Harry doesn’t ask. They gave one another small, sad smiles, before Louis left bed and got up to shower.

When he thinks about it, there are mixed feelings swimming inside him. When Harry said that he _knew_ , Louis thought that it was all over, and… He felt relief. He felt relieved, and that scares him. There is a part of him that might actually after all these years want to tell Harry everything now. He shuts that part down, though, because it still makes his throat feel tight. 

With a week left to Christmas, the annual Christmas Party is coming up. As Louis and Harry’s flat is on the top floor, they have a fairly big rooftop above their flat. They’re never up there in the winter, with the one exception of The Christmas Party they always throw. Well, the party that Niall throws at their place. It would make much more sense to throw it at Stan’s, as he is the one with the largest income and thus the largest flat, but Niall always says the rooftop is vital. For what, Louis isn’t sure, as they and their guests always tend to freeze their arses off. Luckily there never seems to be any snow, though. The English weather is reliable in that sense at least.

The party starts late, almost at eleven. They’re expecting about thirty people, which are all meant to fit onto the rooftop. It always seems impossible, but every year they succeed. Niall is Irish. Lucky. That must be it. The booze is up on the roof, the tiny breeze enough to keep it chilled. There are some heaters put out, which Niall set up this afternoon with Melissa’s help. Everything seems to be in order, which isn’t how it usually plays out. Louis is fairly certain it’s all because of Perrie and Melissa. They’re additions to the group he can get behind. 

Louis is dressed in black jeans and a completely black button down, fastened all the way up, but not tucked in, just like he wore the navy shirt a while back. He has seen Harry swishing around the party, wearing a pair of black jeans, too, though, they have leather patches on the knees, and there is a white, ruffled, fancy shirt on his chest. He looks gorgeous, if a bit pirate-y. 

Liam arrives about eleven-fifteen, Sophia and Andy in tow. Stan is already drunk on schnapps, having been to an office party previous to this. Ed is playing DJ, and is smashing it as expected. Zayn and Perrie are somewhere making out, probably, and Niall is also, somewhere, making out, probably. Louis could be somewhere, making out, too, but he doesn’t want to. He needs to let Liam go. 

Louis ends up spending most of his time mingling, passing from group to group. Sometimes he ends up staying longer, actually interested in the topic of conversation, but mostly not. Social gatherings seem to make him exhausted lately, and he didn’t have the best sleep the previous night, either. The night lingers on, though. Ed’s music is actually daring people to dance, the drinks don’t seem to run out, and the heaters work. Everything is weirdly perfect opposed the previous parties, but still… Louis is a bit lonely. 

It’s almost two, and Louis is standing by the edge of the rooftop by the fire escape that leads down to their apartment, the chest-high brick wall circling them in and assuring he doesn’t fall off. The view isn’t too pretty, just roofs surrounding their building, the sky only visible if one tilts their head back. Louis tucks a cigarette behind his ear, putting another to his lips. He ends up smoking it in complete silence, interrupted by no one. Zayn and Perrie aren’t too far away, but he doesn’t want to talk. He is tired. 

A voice greets him when he lights the second smoke.

“Are you okay?” It’s Harry. He is holding a beer, the other hand tucked deep into his front pocket. His voice isn’t overly concerned, but he is nonetheless there, asking. Louis takes it over nothing.

He shrugs. “Fine.”

Harry opens his mouth, and for a second nothing comes out. He looks hesitant, like he is contemplating whether or not to spill his mind. 

“What?” Louis asks softly. 

Harry’s mouth widens, like it’s on its way out, but he still doesn’t know how to put it. He looks nervous, fidgety, and there is already a small blush on the apples of his cheeks. Louis swallows. 

“You can tell me anything,” he whispers. 

Harry closes mouth, and swallows. He comes closer, just a bit, and then —

“There you are,” someone says behind Louis, interrupting whatever it was Harry was about to say, and Louis turns and finds Liam grinning at him, Sophia and Andy in tow. Louis looks back to Harry, disappointment sinking in his chest. Harry was about to — He suddenly sees something dark and exasperated flash in Harry’s eyes, and his own widen as he feels Liam’s lips against his cheek. And then Zayn is there, hand on Harry’s arm, like a pacifier, something that just stops whatever was about to happen in a second. 

“I missed you,” Liam says, his arms warm around Louis, who can’t stop looking at Harry. He wants to know what he was about to say. He manages to avert his eyes, giving Liam a quick smile. “Hey,” Liam says, suddenly a bit more serious. He looks like he has had one beer too many. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay?” Louis breathes. Everybody is within earshot. This is awkward. 

“Listen…” Liam begins, smiling strangely. “I have this thing with my family. We usually don’t make a big deal out of holidays, but Christmas is one of the few I really find special. On Boxing Day all of us go up to our cabin in northern England. It’s kind of a big deal for us, but sometimes me and my sisters bring our significant others… I know you’re going home to Donny for Christmas, and our cabin isn’t too far away, so you could come spend the day with us…?”

Louis stares, panicked. “You… you want me to spend Boxing Day with your family?”

Liam nods. “Yeah.”

Louis’ mouth falls open in shock. 

The first thing he thinks is that Liam must not have been told about Boxing Day. Crimbo at Harreh and Loueh’s. If he knew he wouldn’t have asked. The first person that meets Louis’ eye is Sophia. She looks absolutely broken, devastated. Louis feels broken, too, and there is no way he could do that to her. Boxing Day is obviously a big deal. And besides, Boxing Day is Harry and Louis’ day. Their day. Their time. Crimbo at Harry and Loueh’s.

Harry breaks the silence then, surprising everybody. He doesn’t look at Louis as he speaks.

“That’s fine,” he says, voice simultaneously light and tight. “I was gonna tell you’d I’d spend the day with Kate this year, anyway.”

Silence. 

The group is silent. 

Louis’ heart is going to rip in two.

“That’s okay,” he whispers. 

Louis feels his entire face crumble, and before he knows it Zayn is grabbing him by the shoulder and drags him down the stairs, pulling him into the empty flat. He closes the door behind him with a smack, locking it. His grip is tight on Louis’ arm, and it almost hurts when he tugs him forcefully through the living room until they reach Louis’, where he sets him down on the bed. 

He stares at him angrily, crouching before him, eyes burning. Louis doesn’t know what it means, and he is unable to do anything but let his shoulders shake, his breath hitching horribly as he gasps, hyperventilating. 

“Fuck him,” Zayn says. 

“What?” Louis looks up. He still can’t breathe.

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say ‘fuck him’,” Zayn demands determinedly, still clutching Louis’ arm painfully. 

Louis feels sick. Legitimately ill. 

Zayn’s eyes are penetrating his, drilling into them with his brown, furious ones. He waits, until he realises that Louis is never going to say those words. He releases his arm, and throws his hands out in exasperation. 

“For fuck’s sake, Louis!” he exclaims. “Harry falls short on you all the time! You do all this shit for him, and he doesn’t even compare! He’s been a fucking dick to you!”

“That’s not true!” Louis wails. He is going to throw up.

“Of course it is true! You’re biased, and you’re blind. You’re fucking blind!”

“Blind?!” He doesn’t understand. Why is Zayn doing this? He doesn’t hate Harry, he doesn’t.

“By Harry!” Zayn yells, completely agitated. “All you see is him! I can tell! You love him! You’ve been in love with him for ages, and you can’t see a fucking thing apart from him. I need you to open your fucking eyes, and see what you’ve got right in front of you!”

Louis feels dumbstruck. He can’t open his mouth. 

Zayn stares at him exasperatedly. “Liam! You’ve got Liam! Liam likes you, he wants you, and he is trying here! He is up there, socialising with all of your friends, asking you to meet his family. He wants this.”

Louis stares. His fingers are shaking. 

“You know?” he whispers.

“Of course I know, you fucking idiot.” Zayn shakes his head, but his voice is softer. “Why do you think I’ve continued pushing this thing with Liam? I’ve been trying to get you to see something else than Harry for weeks.”

Louis can’t open is mouth. Nobody has ever known. Nobody has ever spoken a word to him about this. He’s held it close to his heart, and for the first time in over ten years somebody has unfolded his arms from his chest and ripped it from inside him. 

“He doesn’t reach half the lengths you go for him, Lou,” Zayn says, and while he might not intend it so, the words are harsh, knives cutting him open. “I’m tired of seeing you like this. I’m sick of this, and I am not letting it happen anymore.” His voice gets harder as he speaks. “Open your fucking eyes.”

Something explodes inside Louis.

“I’ve _tried_! It doesn’t work! It’s impossible! Imagine being in love with your best fucking friend for ten years! Is it so fucking hard to get that it takes time getting over it?! I can’t see anything but his stupid fucking smile, and those fucking eyes, and I — I can’t get over it. I feel sick, literally nauseous sometimes because of how much I’m in love with him. I’m, I’m, I’m — I am actually lovesick. I’m sick, and it is awful, and I hate it. It sucks, I wish —” His voice breaks, and he whimpers, hands covering his face. “I just wish —”

There aren’t words enough. His chest heaves as he inhales shakily, his insides ripping up each time he lets new air fill him. He is exhausted, and he hurts. He hurts all the time. 

“He doesn’t love me, Zayn,” he whispers, voice lifeless, eyes bleeding tears as he stares at the nothingness of the insides of his hands. “And it feels like knives cutting through my chest, and nobody can stop me from bleeding out.”

There’s nothing Zayn can say, because he knows that it’s true. Harry is never going to fall in love with Louis. 

They sit quietly on the edge of the bed, and Zayn places his hand on Louis’ back as he cries. 

“What do I do?” he sobs, shaking. His fingers are shaking. “What the hell do I do, Zayn?”

“Either you tell him, or you go to Liam’s on Boxing Day.”

He makes it sound simple. Maybe it is, but Louis’ cheeks are wet, his eyes red, and he feels like he can’t breathe. Simple can hurt. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

“Come here, Lou,” Zayn sighs, and pulls him into his arms as he cries.

**

It’s the twenty-third of December.

It’s snowing outside.

He has come to a decision. He needs to set it all right. He can’t do this to himself anymore. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to anyone; not Liam, not Harry, and not himself. 

He takes the underground through the city to Covent Garden station where he meets Liam. They haven’t spoken since the party. Louis didn’t leave his room the rest of the night, Zayn only left to tell Perrie he would stay with Louis through the night. Louis doesn’t know what Zayn said to Liam, or Harry, or any of them, but Louis was left alone, and Zayn slept by his side. 

He hasn’t seen Harry much. He has stayed mostly in his room when isn’t at work, and Louis doesn’t have anything to say to him yet. He will tell him something, though, but not yet. Soon, however.

He meets Liam, and they stroll through Covent Garden, hands in their pockets as the snow trickles down like soft powder puffs, landing on their coats and in their hairs. He hears a little girl telling her mother the snow is a miracle, and he presses his lips together, looking away. He has stopped believing in miracles.

Liam Payne, though, he looks gorgeous in this setting. His brown eyes under his thick brows are made to look ten times deeper in this weather, and his soft smile makes Louis feel comfortable and warm. Even though Liam holds Louis’ hand with their warm gloves on, Louis thinks he knows. 

They look at the market together. Liam buys caramelised almonds that they share, and they look at ornaments and Christmas decorations together. Louis suggests Liam should get a brooch for Sophia, and when he agrees, and that little look in his eyes appears, Louis knows he is doing the right thing. 

When their morning finally comes to an end, they stop on the pavement outside the entrance of the tube station. The snow is still falling, landing in Liam’s tousled hair and on his coat and scarf. He is lovely, he really is. Maybe in another universe, though. 

Liam is holding both of Louis’ hands in his, looking down at him with a sad smile. They’re close, and Liam’s warmth is one of the things Louis will miss the most.

Maybe he’ll find warmth somewhere else. 

“You should take Sophia on Boxing Day,” he says, righting Liam’s scarf against his coat, determined. The man in front of him looks down at him with a slight frown, but he doesn’t seem all too confused. “I’m sure she’d love it.” Louis nods, and gives Liam’s hand a last squeeze. 

Liam looks a bit unsettled, but he leaves it be. “It was lovely knowing you, Lou,” he says, and even though this is break-up, there is warmth in there. 

“Me, too.”

They hug, and it feels a bit sad, but also very right. 

When he gets home, it’s just past noon. The door to Harry’s room is still closed, as per usual. Louis walks into his own room, and starts packing. He doesn’t need much, but it feels sad. His fingers brush slowly over the soft material of his Christmas jumper, and he can’t help but smile, if only a little. The smile is a bit wistful, and a little sad, but that’s okay. 

He puts it in his bag, together with the gift Harry bought for him. He gave it to him in November, so long ago. They always give their gifts before they spend Christmas apart, and open them apart only to gush about them on Boxing Day. Harry’s is always a little fancier, as he tends to combine it with Louis’ birthday gift. He zips his bags up and places them by the door, before he goes into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate.

He pushes Harry’s door up with his elbow, but it doesn't seem like he is completely awake quite yet. His eyelids are fluttering, his cheek against his pillow, curled into his duvet, hair dishevelled and soft-looking. Louis silently walks into the room, setting Harry’s cup on the nightstand. He’s got his own in his right hand as he sits down on the edge of the bed, the gift under his arm. Harry still doesn’t seem fully conscious, so Louis slips his fingers into his hair, scraping his fingertips against his scalp softly. 

How he loves him. All the things they have been through and experienced through so many years of friendship. Who knew that it would be love that might be the thing that tears them apart? 

He is not ready to lose him. He will never be, but he needs to do this. 

His hands shake as he sets the gift on the nightstand. He feels Harry stir beneath his hand, nuzzling the pillow beneath him. Louis’ fingers keep petting him, unable to stop. He needs to feel him close, because he doesn’t know if this is the last time he will. He leaves today, and when he comes back Harry will know, and Louis will tell him again.

Harry awakens after a few minutes. Louis’ hand stills in his hair when Harry’s eyes find his, blinking languidly over those green gems. He looks a bit confused, surprised, too. They haven’t spoken since the party, not a word, and for all Harry knows Louis has no reason to speak to him at all. 

But, the things is, Niall told a few days ago, after having gotten a recount of what happened from Zayn. He wasn’t told about Louis’ feelings, no, but after he found out, he called Louis up, telling him that Harry and Kate haven’t been seeing each other for weeks. Harry told him they broke it off after only a few dates. Apparently she wasn’t really into men, after all. Probably in the closet, though. Louis still doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

It’s all a bit too much. Harry still said it, and he still hurt Louis. 

“I made some hot chocolate,” Louis says, pointing a finger in the direction of his cup. He hopes Harry doesn’t hear how his voice is shaking. Harry audibly swallows, but his eyes don’t leave Louis. He is sorry. Louis knows that. Louis has known him since he was ten years old, and he knows exactly what his best friend looks like when he is sorry. 

He takes a sip from his own cup, still able to feel Harry’s eyes on him. He doesn’t know how he can exude such composure right now, because, truth be told, his heart is pounding so quickly he can practically hear his own pulse in his ears. 

“Got you a gift.” He nods toward where it lies on the table. He takes a long breath, and it shakes. “Don’t open it until Christmas Day,” he whispers. He blinks, eyes itching. Fuck. He takes another breath, louder this time, shoulders slumping. He forces himself to meet Harry’s eyes. He looks broken. Louis looks away. He can’t handle Harry’s sadness, too. He just can’t. He has got enough on his plate right now.

He clears his throat. “Right,” he says, and it takes so much effort to utter the next words. “I was told by Niall that you don’t have any plans for Boxing Day after all… I, um, I will be back by then. So, if you… I don’t know —”

“I would like that,” Harry whispers.

God. 

Why does it have to feel like this? His eyes are burning. 

He stands, setting his cup on the nightstand, barely touched. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, and he leaves before Harry can reply. 

The drive up to Doncaster is faster than usual, and it is only because Louis drives like a fucking maniac. He stomps the gas as soon as he hits the highway, concentrating on nothing but the traffic, the sound of tires against asphalt, and the steady movement of the vehicle. He refuses to think about the fact that the next time he sees Harry, the other boy will know. 

He arrives in Donny late in the afternoon, and he is greeted with six siblings hugging him close, all at the same time. He smiles, big and genuine. Home. 

The two full days he spends with his family make him feel better than he has in two months. In the start of November, when he was sitting there, looking at Harry fiddling with the lights to their plastic tree, he never would have thought Harry would know when Christmas came around. The last weeks have been ruthless, really have taken a toll on him, but being home makes him feel whole again, almost. 

He doesn’t have to think about it. There is so much to do. Cookies to decorate, children to play with, food to cook, and food to eat, last minute presents to wrap, and eggnog to sneak his oldest sisters, and it’s so time consuming. 

On his birthday, the 24th, he gets his cake, his gifts, and all the birthday texts he always does. It’s comforting, and even though the person he cares about most who isn’t family sends the text that matters the most and it stings a bit, he feels a bit okay.

_Happy birthday. Love you._

_Thank you. Love you too._

It’s only when the 25th comes around that he starts to feel it again. They open their gifts when everyone is awake, and all the way back in London Harry is doing the same thing. Harry is opening Louis’ gift, and then Harry will know. 

It’s noon, and Harry knows. Louis has shut his phone off. 

Then, it’s three o’clock, and Harry knows. And then it’s four, and five, and so it goes on. Harry knows, and Louis’ breath shakes, and his chest gets tighter and tighter. 

He tells his mum before he goes to bed. His voice is shaky, yet determined as he speaks. “I’m in love with Harry, Mum. And I’m going to tell him.”

She doesn’t seem like she knew when he explains, but neither does she look surprised. “Either way, love…” she says softly. “He will still be your friend. Harry will always be kind.”

Louis doesn’t know about the first part of that statement, but the second he can admit is probably true. He doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. 

Before he falls asleep, chest in knots, Liam texts. Louis never would have guessed that that would be thing that would put him to ease. He doesn’t think he would have ever fallen asleep that night if it weren’t for that text.

_I asked Sophia to come with me on Boxing Day. I don’t know how in the world you knew, Louis. But thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

Louis closes his eyes, cheek against the soft pillow. Somehow there is something trickling like syrup through his chest. A small smile creeps onto his face, because maybe he is the reason Sophia got her Christmas wish after all. 

He packs up his things early, beginning his drive back to London after telling his goodbyes. If he cries as he drives, tears slipping down his cheeks, then nobody needs to know. He is resolute, though, because someday Harry needs to know. Louis is not going to drag this on. 

Walking the steps up to their flat he feels like he has been set in stones for thousands of years, joints stiff and achy, body reluctant and dreadful. Despite how determined he is to go through with this, he can’t bring himself to walk straight inside. He can’t. He needs a moment.

He sits down on the steps outside the apartment. He leans down, and lets his head rest between his knees. Any moment everything could burst into flames. Or turn into ice. Crushed into a million irreparable pieces. 

It has come to this. After all these years, and they are finally here. He is not ready. He won’t ever be. 

He feels almost nauseous as he presses down the door handle. The door is unlocked, which means Harry is home and awake. Louis is not ready. He silently opens it, and steps inside. 

He said he wanted this. That he wanted to make it right. He does, deep down, but in this moment he would be anywhere else. He doesn’t know what he is going to say, or what he is going to do. He can’t take off his shoes slowly enough. He is dreading it. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to be here. 

He pulls off his jacket, and hangs it ceremoniously on the rack, not letting it make a noise. He brushes a hair off his jeans. The flat is dead quiet. Not a sound has been made. 

Louis forces his feet to move. Left foot, right foot. Lift, forward, down.

His heart is beating out of his chest. 

He silently makes his way into the flat. 

When he sees him, he feels like his heart is ripping apart, inch by inch. Parting veins, flesh breaking. His blood is like hands, crushing him from the inside. 

Harry is at the kitchen table. He is sitting on one of the high chairs, facing the living room. His face is buried in his hands, curls dishevelled like they’ve been mercilessly tugged at. But he is still. Dead still, like a statue made hundreds of years ago. Before him, on the table, is Louis’ gift. It’s opened, placed carefully on top of the neatly folded wrappings. He looks like he hasn’t moved since he opened it. 

He looks distraught, crushed.

He is going to break Louis’ heart. 

It’s inevitable. 

And painful. It’s painful knowing he is about to do something that he knows will turn him into dust and ashes.

“Hi.” It’s barely a sound. It’s a miracle Harry hears it. Or maybe it isn’t. Miracles are supposed to be good. This isn’t going to be good. 

Harry jerks. His shoulders flinch. He mustn’t have heard Louis at all, yet Louis has been standing there, gathering strength for at least a minute. He looks up, and his green eyes are pale and red. He has been crying. Louis has been crying floods the entire morning, too. 

Harry is going to break his heart. This is it. He is not ready. 

Harry looks at him. His eyes roam him, Louis standing there with a too big jumper, sleeves past his hands. He has never felt more vulnerable. 

It’s as though Harry finally sees him. After twelve and a half years, Harry can see him. He sees through him like he were glass. And it’s fucked up, because he has always been an open book to him, but Harry has not been reading between the lines. Not until now. 

“You gave me socks,” he whispers. His voice is low, his lips are dry, and Louis can practically see the knife sliding over his chest, making him ache. Louis is the knife. He is the reason Harry is in pain. 

And he is beautiful. Even when he is seconds away from breaking him. 

Harry looks at him. His eyes are piercing, and they don’t leave him. 

Louis can’t believe he’s got tears in his eyes already. When he imagined this day he always thought he would be stronger. After all, he has known the answer all along. 

Harry nods, just a tiny nod, almost to himself. Louis stands there, shrinking in on himself, wishing to disappear under the jumper and never come out. He cannot believe he is this scared. But he isn’t scared of Harry; he is afraid of losing him. 

Harry inhales, drawing in the breath of his life. When the words finally leave his mouth, they’re quiet, but steady and clear. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you?”

The flat is dead quiet. There is nothing. The sound of a breath could bring down the roof. 

And he nods, because the roof would kill them both.

Harry doesn’t show anything. Louis can’t read him. He only stares at Louis, eyes locked tight on his. 

“How long?” he asks quietly. 

Louis blinks his tears away. He wraps his arms over his tummy protectively. “Always,” he whispers. 

It’s out, it’s done, and not a single part of it feels good. 

Harry nods. It’s slow, and he is silent, but he is also biting his lip, eyes are brimming with his own tears. And then Harry can’t look at him anymore.

Louis feels his own tears sliding down his cheeks, and he can’t bring himself to move. He can’t lift a finger. Harry’s breath hitches horribly, the sound cutting Louis’ heart in half. Louis is never going to be fine. Never. 

Harry nods to himself, and then he nods again. One of his shaking hands comes to brush over the red socks still resting on the table, the reindeer on either one misshaped. He presses the soft material to his face, eyes closing, brows knitting… and he inhales.

His eyes are red rimmed and wet when he finally looks up at Louis. 

“Remember when we danced?” he croaks, sobs seconds away from taking over.

Louis can’t move a muscle. 

Harry stands up. He is shaking. He manages to make his way over to Louis, who for the life of him can’t force his feet to move away. 

“Do you want to dance?” Harry asks, voice throaty and broken. “Can we just do that?”

This is the last thing Louis was expecting. And he can’t do anything but stare. 

Harry doesn’t wait for an answer. He tangles his fingers with Louis’ lifeless right hand, the other flattening out over the small of his back. 

There’s no music. Not a single sound. Louis’ heart could break the walls of the building by the sound. And Harry’s hand could crush it in an instant. 

He doesn’t know how long they dance. It’s barely a dance at all; they are just swaying and shifting on their feet. Harry has got Louis’ body against his, and Louis thinks that if this is the last he’ll get of him, he’ll take it. He lets Harry move them, side to side, swaying. He thinks about the night they danced to Coldplay. This is a hundred times different. That was a reconciliation of sorts. Louis doesn’t know what this is.

Eventually they come to a stop, but Harry is still standing flush against Louis, chest expanding and pressing hotly against him. 

Harry releases his hand.

“I’m sorry —” Louis whispers. He can’t stay here —

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry interrupts quietly, voice unusually brittle, but definitely resolute. His hands reach up to Louis’ face, and he silently removes his glasses and places them on the table next to them. “A lot. I’ve been thinking a lot,” he whispers.

There is a silent moment. Harry is gazing into Louis’ eyes, and Louis only sees green, green, green. He wants to disappear into them.

When Harry opens his mouth again his voice a whisper, unsteady. 

“I’ve been thinking, and I think,” he swallows, “I think I’ve known. Maybe not consciously, or maybe I’ve pushed it away, but I think I’ve known. Maybe.” He shakes his head a little, swallowing again. 

Louis can see the red band at the end of the marathon. It’s almost over. Harry can let him down easy now. He is not ready, but he would rather he did it quickly. 

Harry’s fingers slip into Louis’ hair. He blinks, a little startled. Harry doesn’t stop, only cards his fingers through his hair at the sides of his head, fingers warm against his scalp.

”Listen,” he whispers. His eyes are locked on Louis’, and Louis can’t breathe. They’re close, faces only inches apart. “Lou, I’m a little scared. And I think I’ve been for a while. Maybe that’s why my subconscious didn’t let me realise that you’re — we’re… I don’t think I can do this… like, so fast. I think, I think… I’ve _thought_ , and I want to, but I need to… Slow, yeah?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Louis whispers, terrified.

Harry breathes. His nerves are practically hitting Louis in the face. “I think I feel the same.”

“What?” His voice is way too loud, incredulous, and loud. 

“Slow, okay?” Harry whispers, anxious. “I am so fucking scared, but I love you, and I think I feel the same way you do.”

It clicks. 

“You… You’re. Okay,” he breathes.

He feels Harry’s nose burying into his neck. 

It’s. It’s… indescribable. 

“I love you like crazy,” Harry whispers. Louis can feel his lips brush against his skin. “You’ve made my life a circus these last two months, but somehow I just love you more… I don’t know how to do this, but I think I want to.”

Louis breathes. 

“Lou? Say something.”

“I can’t think right now,” is all he can squeak out. 

“Okay. Maybe you could hug me back, though, because I’m starting to feel a little weird.”

Right. 

Right. 

He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, and gently presses him closer. He feels him sag against him, and he exhales. 

He doesn’t dare to say much. Doesn’t dare to move. They’re quiet for what feels like an eternity. 

“I thought our friendship was going to end today.” He whispers it, and it feels like an entire house falling off his shoulders. Sitting outside the door on the stairs, praying, feels like a lifetime ago. 

Harry draws a breath, voice gravelly and determined. “Our friendship would never end, Lou.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, head moving against Harry’s shoulder with each breath the other boy takes. 

“Deadly,” he promises.

Louis hiccups. “I’m so in love with you.” He is shaking.

“I know,” Harry whispers. He pulls away, but his hands cup Louis’ cheeks. He stares into his eyes, jaw set firmly. “Listen,” he says. “You would never in a million years lose me. Never.” His face crumbles again, tears pooling in his gems of eyes. “And that you even thought you would hurts me to the bone. I love you so much, and I never wanted to make you feel like you might have these months. I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry.”

His face disappears against Louis’ throat again, shoulders shaking. Louis squeezes his eyes close, almost crushing him in his arms. He sways them, slowly, and Harry sniffles in his arms, but he lets him. 

They sway for a good while.

“We will be good, Lou,” Harry whispers, and a kiss is planted under his jaw. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. It’s going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine.

**

It’s New Year’s Eve. Well, the day of. It’s noon, and Louis is on his way back to Doncaster. Harry is by his side this time, holding his hand. His thumb slides over the surface of Louis’, eyes fastened fascinatedly on the spot.

“It still feels so weird that you do that,” Louis murmurs, eyes on the road ahead. It’s only been days. 

“I love your hands,” Harry mumbles back, squeezing it. “They fit with mine.”

Louis is so, so in love with him. 

“They do,” he whispers.

The last couple of days have been quiet. Every interaction has been soft, sweet, and most of all gentle. They’ve cuddled, watched movies, held hands, and tried to make up for the two months apart. Scrabble in bed with hot chocolate is a favourite. 

Despite the rough eight weeks they’ve had, the last few days are strangely worth it. Louis gets it if Zayn is somewhat apprehensive about the newfound conclusion of their relationship, as he still thinks Harry was at times a complete a arse… but truth is, these two months are nothing when they’ve known each other since they were kids. Louis knows the person who Harry really is. These two months have been fucked up, hell for both of them. They weren’t quite themselves sometimes. Louis used to think he was defined by his unrequited love for Harry, but these last few days he has come to realise that he isn’t. He has been an emotional wreck, but that isn’t who he really is. These months are not what Louis and Harry really are.

They had a talk the other night, one of the many he is sure they will have. They were snuggled up under the duvet in Harry’s bed, watching an old film from the nineties. Harry had gotten oddly quiet for a moment, making Louis look up at him.

“What?” Louis whispered, fingers tightening in the grip he had on the front of Harry’s t-shirt. 

Harry looked up with red-rimmed, bleary eyes. “I’ve been a dick to you,” he sniffled. “I took you for granted, and I was such an arse.” 

Louis’ fingers found his instantly, even though his teeth sank into his bottom lip, swallowing. “Well. You were a twat sometimes, but… H, we can move past this chapter now, yeah? This Christmas has been fucking shit, but we got through it, yeah?”

He shook his head. “I was awful at the Christmas party.”

Louis inhaled. “Yeah. That actually hurt,” he whispered. 

“I said it because I was afraid of you hurting me first,” Harry whispered back, voice swimming with guilt. “I was so afraid that you would rather spend the day at Liam’s than be with me. With how strange our friendship had become, literally out of nowhere for me, I was afraid that you didn’t want our friendship to be the same anymore. I didn’t know if you cared about Boxing Day with me anymore.”

Louis could only sigh. “I would never have gone to Liam’s,” he told him. “Even if you had said nothing, I probably wouldn’t have, because Sophia loves him, and I don’t. She would have been heartbroken, and besides… after we… you know, when we stood there in the hall a few nights before. Since then part of me actually wanted to tell you about how I feel. I think I would have even if you never said anything.”

Harry was silent for a few moments, processing. When he spoke, the question was simple. “Sophia and Liam?”

“Yep,” Louis nodded. “She loves him. Just like I love you.”

It felt so weird saying that out loud, and it still does. He is in love with Harry, and he _can_ say it aloud now.

“Do you… What do you want to tell our families?” Harry wonders, thumb stroking his hand again. They’re only an hour away from home.

Louis takes a small breath, glancing at him for a short moment before his eyes return to the road. After all of this mess, there is still a small thing nibbling on his heart. 

“Maybe we can keep it under wraps for a bit?” he suggests. “I mean, I’ve told my mum how I feel about you, but I don’t think she has told Anne, because she promised not to do it unless, you know… our friendship ended.” He clears his throat, eyes focusing on the car a couple hundred yards away in front of them on the highway.

Harry frowns. “Sure, Lou… But our friendship —”

“I know, you said our friendship wouldn’t end, but that’s what I thought at the time.” Louis shrugs. “We can let that go now.”

“Okay,” Harry nods, pressing his lips together. “I love you, though.”

“I love you.”

The rest of the drive is comfortable, Harry playing DJ and making Louis guess the song titles by the intro of each song. It is finally easy to be with him, and it’s so different from even years before when Louis’ feelings for Harry weren’t as strong as they are now. There is nothing stopping him from touching Harry, no worry that he might do the wrong thing, say something, or touch him in a way that isn’t strictly platonic. Louis finally feels free. 

They arrive in the afternoon, snow falling in small puffs and landing in their hairs as they lock the car. They are greeted by their families already outside, Louis’ siblings clinging to him, none of them wearing socks or shoes despite the thin layer of white on the ground. They move on and cling to Harry for even longer, not having seen him in months. Anne captures Louis in a tight hug, and Louis knows that Harry might have told her. She doesn’t say anything, but her hug is harder and longer, and that says whole lot more. His own mum hugs him, too, and when she does she whispers in his ear.

“How did it go?” 

He smiles, answering in a small voice, “He might love me back, Mum.”

Dinner is lovely. Harry sits by his side, bantering freely with his sisters, complimenting his own mum about the food, and practically beaming like sunshine. Louis can’t help but watch, and for the first time he can do it without inhibitions. It’s okay now, and it feels so bloody good. 

During dessert, Harry slides his hand onto Louis’ thigh, making him splutter on his drink. He leans in close, lips pressed to his ear, not leave any space as he whispers, “I know who I want my New Year’s kiss to be.”

It makes Louis blush, throat and cheeks flaming, but it also makes him want to cry a bit. Everything has been so hard, and now… Well. It’s good. Things are good. 

They stand gathered with the rest of the block in front of their houses, watching as a couple of people light fire to their fireworks. It’s beautiful, and even though it’s a bit cold, Harry’s hand in his makes him feel hot inside. Harry hugs him close, standing behind him with his arm over his shoulders as they watch the sky light up in rainbows and colours. It’s easy. 

When midnight actually strikes, Harry takes Louis’ hand again, and nods toward Louis’ house. He leads him around it, until they reach the backyard. They walk onto the terrace, where their old outdoors sofa still stands under the roof. Somebody must have put out the cushions now that the snow has stopped falling again. They sit down, Louis leaning back against the armrest, and Harry slips in between his legs, back against his chest. Louis winds his arms around him, their jackets warm and a bit in the way, but they are warm and it’s cosy.

“You know I thought about it?” Harry says out of the blue. His fingers find Louis’. “Before. I thought about kissing you.”

“You did?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry nods. “It was weird. I’d been missing you so much… This was when you dated Liam. And we had the tickle fight right before you locked yourself in the bathroom. I don’t know why, I just looked down at you, and my body was telling me to just kiss you… And then after we were at that pub, and…” He clears his throat. “I just wanted to be close to you, and I missed you. But I couldn’t get close enough then. I think I get it now.”

Harry leans further back against Louis, tilting his head back to meet his eyes. “It took you giving me those reindeer socks for it to click, but I love you. More than anything.”

Louis exhales, breath shaking. 

“I fucking love you so much it hurts, Harry,” he says softly, but he is nonetheless firm when he continues. “I love you. And I know you feel something for me, but… All I ask is that you don’t do this unless you are sure that it’s the same love that I feel. Don’t… Please, don’t break my heart. That is all I ask. If you think there is a chance that you might, then don’t do this. Don’t break my heart.”

They are silent for another moment, fireworks in the distance the only sounds surrounding them. Harry takes a deep breath, and pushes the hood of his jacket off, shifting closer to Louis until his face is only centimetres away. Their eyes meet again from where Harry is looking up at him. His eyes are green, clear, and honest.

“I won’t,” he promises, and inches up until his lips meet Louis’. 

And, he never does.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Love you all xx
> 
>  **If you want to say hi:**  
>  tumblr: [isthatyoularry](http://isthatyoularry.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter: [isthatyoularry](https://twitter.com/isthatyoularry)


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